The Pirate Band by Em Lynas

Sea-sick Sid is a pirate, old.
His armpits reek of smelly mould.
With a belly full of stinky beer,
He's a most disgusting buccaneer.

He guzzles down his grog and grub,
In Mrs Morgan's dirty pub,
And every night at half past eight,
His crew arrives to watch and wait.

They wait for Sid, the scurvy scab,
To fill his gut with rotting crab.
It festers, bubbles, in his belly,
Until it wobbles, just like jelly.

Sid's gut grows, inflates some more,
Then, Grizzly Gert stomps on the floor.
'Avast there lads! He's gonna blow!
Quick, get ready for the show!'

Sid's bulging belly still expands.
His face goes red. He cups his hands.
The burp it starts and Sid expels,
The most revolting, awful smells.

The sound is low and comes out slow,
It is the perfect note of doh.
Blistering Bob cries, ‘Best burp yet!’
And he joins in for a burp duet.

The tune is sung by Grizzly Gert,
And on guitar is Barmy Bert.
Three-Ton Tom, stuck in his seat,
Stamps the beat with two flat feet.

One-eyed Zac and Smidge McCloud,
Play trombone, trumpet, blasting loud.
Sid burps on with great delight,
He nods his head, they're good tonight.

The pirate band sing song and shanty.
Some are soft and some are chanty.
They jig about to rhythm and blues,
Flexing muscles and tattoos.

The tuneful burp lasts all night long,
Till Grizzly Gert sings her last song.
A slow and lonely, calm concerto,
Composed at sea by Sad Alberto.

The perfect note of doh is ended,
And all agree the night was splendid.
So they donate doubloons of gold,
To Sea-sick Sid, the pirate, old.

Poem © 2014 Maureen Lynas
Illustration © 2014 Sally Kindberg