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Poem

It was out in Venezuela when I ran into this sailor
He was sitting at the bar, right next to me 
He was rugged he was mean and he wasn’t very clean
But I listened when he spoke about the sea

There were stories there were tales, of the hunt for killer whales
When his leg was bitten off below the knee
How en route to Senegal they were shipwrecked in squall
He survived for sixteen weeks, tied to a tree

Came the time in Kathmandu, him the captain and the crew
Were becalmed for seven days, and in a stew
So they hauled him up the mast, where they tied him good and fast
Then they fed him with baked beans, until he blew
 
After that there came the beast and the native king and priest
It was really getting far too much to bear
As the yarns grew more far fetched, with my patience sorely stretched
I decided that I really didn’t care

So I bought him one more rum and I said, “the time has come”
That I needed to go out, to use the loo
So he said “young man be fast, for you haven’t heard the last,
Like, when I first met your mother, in Peru

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