Mateys, all together now!
Ye who dwell in th' brig o' th' Lord
Who abide und'r His sails for life
Say to th' Lord
"Me refuge, me port in whom I trust!"
Arrrrrrrrr, and He will raise ye up on eagles' wings
Bear ye on th' breath o' dawn
Make ye to spitshine like th' sun
And hold ye on th' handle o' cutlass.
Th' plank o' the whipstand will nev'r capture ye
And keelhauls will bring ye no fear
Under His sails yer refuge
His faithfulness, yer burgoo.
Arrrrrrrr, and He will raise ye up on eagles' wings
Bear ye on th' breath o' dawn
Make ye to spit-shine like th' sun
And hold ye on th' handle o' His cutlass.
Ye need not fear th' storms o' th' night
Nor th' cannon thar blows by day
Though thousands feed the fishies
Near ye it shall not come.
Arrrrrrrrr, and He will raise ye up on eagles' wings
Bear ye on th' breath o' dawn
Make ye to spit-shine like th' sun
And hold ye on th' handle o' His cutlass.
For t' His angels He's said "Ahoy, buckos!--
Ye guard 'im in all o' his ways"
Upon their hands they will bear ye up
Lest ye be scurvy landlubber sharkbait.
Arrrrrrrrr, and He will raise ye up on eagles' wings
Bear ye on th' breath o' dawn
Make ye to spit-shine like th' sun
And hold ye on th' handle o' His cutlass.
With all apologies to those who adore the song, and the composer, who I have worked with and is a fine human being. Arrr, I be eatin' extra wormy biscuits fer this.
More Talk Like a Pirate day meets the Ironic Catholic fun here.
1 comment:
Oy vey. I mean, Arrrrr vey!
Post a Comment