Aged ten 'n' three, I Jack Tar'd be,
though yet were sea legs lackin.'
Part man, part whelp, I plann'd (with help)
to kill the kelp-clad kraken:
though yet were sea legs lackin.'
Part man, part whelp, I plann'd (with help)
to kill the kelp-clad kraken:
I, arm'd with guns 'n' bullets (tons!),
bazookas, too, was packin.'
So: here's the gist: My peers insist
a posse be convened.
(There's but one rub: they're nuts to club
the loathsome lubber fiend:
some irate Brit put out a hit;
his Smith & Wesson's clean'd.)
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