Arrr, I be known as the Chantey Mate,
I'll ne'er be captain, an' I'll ne'er be bait!
My songs be fer swillin', my poems are rot,
But when chanteys need beltin', yer needin' my lot!
So I get no respect when the sun be down or up,
Though wi'out me a-singin', we'd be gallows crup!
So to sum up and finish me sad, sorry tale,
Drink up, good sirs, and join me in hell!
-seasong