June 18, 2012

• The Day Popeye Killed Olive

  

   

   

   

  This is the story of old William McBey,

  Told in ale taverns, to this very day.

  Of love and remorse, this tale is told,

  Of lust and murder by a sailor so bold.

   

  He was known as “Popeye” to all his mates,

  A fair man at sea on the gives and takes.

  He loved the wench Olive, a dark heart unturned,

  T’was for her affection, that his soul now burned.

   

  Now Olive served at the Lost Anchor Inn,

  And for the seamen, she’d trim now and then.

  Now Popeye downed a tankard, now and again,

  And was apt and ready, for a bit of sin.

   

  Now this tavern trollop, she pleasured old Popeye,

  Then soon took his booty, leaving him high and dry.

  No mermaid vixen, was there ever so cruel,

  That took Popeye’s worth, in both coin and pearl.

   

  For it was captain Bluto, of the whaler Seahorse,

  That Olive set her sails and maneuvered her course.

  Now Popeye felt rage, for passion now wasted,

  And sought out Bluto, for vengeance to be tasted.

   

  Both Bluto and Olive, they begged him to forgive,

  But he keelhauled Bluto, and his sea wench Olive.

  T’was to Davy Jones’ locker, he tossed their carcass,

  Then he climbed the main mast, high in the darkness.

   

  He wrapped a rigging rope, tight round his neck,

  Then said his sea prayers, then dropped to the deck.

  To all me hearties….this tale’s now told,

  Of a tormented shipmate, and a woman so cold.

   

  And the morale of this ditty, is so very clear,

  To lubbers and swabbies, both far and near.

  The loves of a sailor, can never be,

  Like castles of sand, they just wash out to sea.

   

  Charlie 2012

   

   

   

   

  • 1:14 am
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