He was a boy, Cletus McCurl.
He tried taking his yacht through storms a-fierce.
His raft it sunk. No more sally.
He saw a galley.

He boarded ship. His clever ploy,
Leaked when three men watched him. 'M8 Ahoi!'
But all of the fiends,
Struck not his toes.
They needed mopping help with rags and hose.

They hollered 'M8 Ahoi!'
Joined them, wee pi-r8-ing boy.
He love the wooden, tough old curs.
Cletus the Bootiest,
Was his name as they passed,
Through seas as black as Long John's curse.

Bucc'neers all ploughed,
Through these typhoons.
Bleeding from rabies and scurvy wounds.
They burned enemies,
Pashed lass beauties.
'M8 Ahoi, rocks up ahead I see!'
Cletus jumps off board,
From skull and cross bones.
The tr8er shot,
Picked up and leer at by goons.
His ragged lungs,
Panting aloud,
Looks up at the men with cutlasses out.


Cletus the tr8er boi,
Attempted escaping ploy.
Jumped off the ship into the surf.
Now all the looters gleer,
'Landlubber mutineer,
Arr, yer dubloons aint got no more worth!'

Poor McCurl is pissing now.
The rough lot are joyed. 'Get out!'
Their long swords will thrust and rent,
His limbs ground up, cut and bent.
So sad that the seven seas,
Over land: one foot could raise.
Cletus floored it on his dive.
Piracy now ends his life.

Gee, 'M8 Ahoi!'
It's Cletus McCurl.
With pi-r8-ing pennies all stolen, lost.
He is now lunch,
Oh what a lark.
Chowed down, chopped, by a big sharrrk.

Pirates said 'M8 Ahoi!'
But he proved a tr8er boi.
He's all hacked up, escaped somehow.
He's now on a boat.
Wearing eyepatch and coat,
Pegleg McCurl's a captain nowww.