“Feed us, feed us, Captain Blue, 
something good to eat that’s brand new.
Yes, something to sink what’s left of my teeth into.
And it had better not swim. Yes, no swimming.
We hate fish, makes us sick even with lemon.
It best have four legs and moo," shouts and screams a collection
of individuals from my mutinous crew.

After sinking and gathering loot,
gold Doubloons, ta boot, 
from a doomed Spanish Galleon,
then riding waves for days,
on the back of a wild Stallion. 
And having eaten everything in sight, 
this crew is fit to be tied
on a Saturday night.

They’re a scary lot by any measures 
and have begun to practice eating again,
by chewing on Spanish leather. 
Chickens are gone except for feathers. 
Rum’s dried up under tropical weather.

Our fine wench of a French Cookie, Playfully performs her daily duties.
She is cute, as she runs around deck in her birthday suit,
plus this woman can really, really cook,
as we pull into our own home port, nook.

"Here you go Cookie. That's everything on the list. Now tell us how it's done down to the very last kiss."