Crossing The Line With The Royal Baby

Less than forty shell backs,
One hundred and eighty pollywogs,
Those shell backs have their
Work cut out
For them.

As we approach the line,
The national ensign is struck,
And the Jolly Roger is close up
To the main truck.
Good thing the horizon is
Clear.

Breakfast is served,
For pollywogs who can choke it down.
Is that a hybrid oyster?
Garnished with
Lube oil?
Yum.

You are all guilty!
Here are your summons,
To prove it.
You've offended King Neptune
Somethin' fierce.

Boats – pipe all hands,
“All pollywogs assemble on the foc'sle.”
Who needs that breakfast, anyway?
The lube oil might not have
Aided digestion.

Once on the foc'sle,
We are herded like cattle,
Using fire hoses,
Stay forward of
The firing safety line,
You! Who, me?
Yes, you. You are a
Special case.
I shiver in the
equatorial warmth.
A special case?


We are moved forward,
A few at a time,
It's not enough to fly
The Jolly Roger,
We now show
Two black balls,
A vessel
Not under command,
We are a warship
Run amuck,
Entangled in the,
Equator.

Before His Royal Highness,
KING NEPTUNE,
The charges are *Severe*.
Each is read with
All due solemnity by
Davy Jones,
A one eyed creep,
Who seems to carry
A certain resemblance to,
The Captain.
As each charge is detailed,
The Royal Baby,
Fat, greasy,
(He could be BT2 Skinner's twin)
Mutters “Ahem, of course,
He's guilty you know.”

Davy Jones says that
I look disgusting so,
An unseen hand
Shampoos me with a gob of,
Nice, red, gun grease,
The stuff we use on
The five inch.
They forget the rinse.
The Royal Baby thinks
I've sh-t in my pants,
So King Neptune orders
That nothing should
Spoil down there.
They dump a little
Cosmolene,
In my pants.


King Neptune declares
This Pollywog,
Unworthy,
And orders me thrown
Overboard.
I am blind folded,
Picked up,
Carried up a ladder to
The flight deck,
Tossed head first,
Into a chute,
Full of
Garbage.
Down A slide.
Yup, it's definitely,
Garbage,
Into the water.

Hands grasp my shoulders,
Pull me up,
I guess They didn't throw
Me overboard.
The blind fold comes off.
Two smiling pirates pull me out,
And I'm off to the showers,
And ready for a real meal,
Without lube oil.