I hold hard, me scurvy knaves.
Where be my buccaneers?
On either side of your buccaneer.
Well, be that as it may,
I now cause on Seaman Staines
to sing us an old sea dog song.
On the good ship, winkie-wankie-woo,
we are the gallant crew.
We've got sky plus and beer and pies,
fat-bottomed boys to sodomize.
All hands on deck, the captain cries.
On the good ship, winkie-wankie-woo,
on the good ship, winkie-wankie-woo,
the scurvy, pervy crew.
We fornicate on distant shores,
we tug the ropes, we pull the oars.
Sorry, chum, but I don't think much of yours.
On the good ship, winkie-wankie-woo,
on the good ship, winkie-wankie-woo,
we * the kangaroo,
an albatross and a large great dame
and a pirate bowl from the Spanish main.
Three Essex girls, then the kangaroo again.
On the good ship, winkie-wankie-woo,
on the good ship, winkie-wankie-woo,
we screw what we can screw.
There's a page three photo we've applied
to a nice knothole that's about so wide
and the first mate's bending on the other side.
On the good ship, winkie-wankie-woo,
on the good ship, winkie-wankie-woo,
we fart and follow through.
We've got no laughs and the old poop deck
is full of poop up to your neck
and the cabin boy's full of flippy neck.
On the good ship, winkie-wankie-woo.