Squire's Locker

Lyrics

Seventeen men on a dead squire's locker Have another drink it's on me Jack Let the rum pour from your throat to the floor Tickling your ribs like a teabag Twelve leagues down where the laughs never end Everyone's as rotten as a fleabag In and out of eye sockets all the fish swim He hi ho did ya see that? Roger went first so you know how it goes Jolly as a whore out on payday Four on the floor and you know what's more? Barking at the moon like a maniac Shells and kеlp matted into his hair Eyes dark and empty as a ravеn Split in his britches at the derriere Face fallen in like a cave-in Shouting like waves spraying off of the bough Arms wildly waving like the wind blows Don't try to limit him least not now Let him keep crashing through the windows Sixteen swabs on a dead squire's deck Have another drink it's on me Jack Let the rum pour from your mouth to your neck And tickle your ribs like a teabag Back on the shore where the maidens splay out Half of them fish from the waist down Dapper little gents watching how it plays out But plenty of them hit the deck face down Thomas tried his hand at a sonnet after supper Horace bent his wrist like a crab claw The conch shell blew and dessert was served Melon flavored gel in the shape of a seesaw We saw this from the deck and the rigging Pillage won't begin to describe it Swabs swinging in like monkeys on the vine And though most of you have never tried it To run a man through to the base of a sword And watch his eyes bulge is a pleasure To do what you do to a fauntleroy lord Then make off with his lass and his treasure They scatter like mice at the sound of the cannon The eyepatch can tend to alarm them One wooden leg and a hook for a hand Makes it clear that you intend to harm them Wicked like a man going wolf for the moon Night time black as a cauldron With the way it's going they'll be finished pretty soon And the lights in their eyes will be all dim Fifteen lords yeah we only lost one Have another drink it's on me Jack The rum on your hat through your boots to the floor Tickling your ribs like a teabag