This collection was conceived in that beautiful Irish summer of 2007. I was off work that day, which I decided to spend at Rosses Point. Seeking shelter from the searing heat, I went into the caves where I found an inexhaustible store of tobacco, wine and other goods piled up. At the far end, sitting on kegs and using a big wooden box as a table, I saw a dozen unkempt pirates and a priest who were chanting their songs while drinking themselves silly. They were difficult to understand since they were plastered, had thick Rossian accents, and not more than three teeth left; however, I have tried to preserve these musical gems as accurately as possible.
In the caves of Rosses Point
Two-armed Nathan wove a crown
Our good fortune had declined
And we shall not be deprived
With tobacco in pipes of clay,
When stars come out at night time,
We sail the wicked ocean
Yes, we embrace the savage
Their captain barked that they were late,
They buried him beneath the sand,
We watched the scene from Elsinore,
Forgive me, Your Grace, for I have sinned. My parish
Hearing confession in Gibraltar nurses
Then I met Father Flynn. My head went dizzy
His parish was a charming fishing village
I envied him! Two sea miles from Gibraltar
Now I am priest in Rosses! My transgression
And when I walk the beach, Small Paul might meet me,
I talk too much, Your Grace. The state of bearing
We love each gale, we love each breeze,
We make all sailors’ dreams come true
Tonight around Killaspug Point,
We kill and maim who we can find
And when we sail with fellow thugs
And when the setting sun illumes
We count our blessings and our spoils
We sing about the many things
A brand new combat knife from Turkey
And so he did. He showed his fitness
Welcome to Elsinore, my friends
In velvet cushions we shall sink
She is as soft as ripened fruit
Once upon a time there was
The pirates pulled the girl on deck
The men were getting drunk and gay;
And here he sang and drank again
The woman told him on the spot:
This instance made the pirates think,
One evening Captain Longarm went
Instead of sounds of sins of flesh
‘This creature caused our jealousy,
The pirate crew went back inside
Gather round to hear the story
Once we sailed the bay on business
He, as fiery as twelve spices,
‘You’re a hero, One-armed Nathan’,
The Caves of Rosses Point
whale is served and torches lit,
for tonight we shall anoint
our new captain. Turn the spit,
pass the jug of ale around
with a jolly burping sound!
out of seaweed and a rose,
Small Paul repossessed a gown
from the Spanish King: he knows,
noble clothes for noble men
should attire each noble plan!
till Old Pete, the Iron Bar,
unheroically resigned,
dying of pneumonia;
now Black Jack, with firmer hand,
leads our merry killing band!
of sweet pleasures in our den:
our first shipment has arrived
with a Spanish galleon.
There’s chorizo we can dine
on and lots of Spanish wine!
straight from the Americas,
we will celebrate this day
underneath the Rossian stars,
for tonight we’ll rock the joint
in the caves of Rosses Point!
Sailors of the Shore
we meet at Elsinore,
for this is just the right time
for stocking up our store.
We hoist the Jolly Roger,
and those who cross our way,
the vessels with each lodger,
won’t see another day.
Set sail! We’re fearless traders
who plunder and explore,
we are sadistic raiders
and sailors of the shore:
when vicious winds are blowing,
we’re sailing and we’re rowing,
and when the cock is crowing,
we’re back at Elsinore.
and challenge Neptune’s pow’rs,
we kill without emotion
and take what is not ours -
be it a local trawler,
the galleon of a king,
we will be taking all her
goods and her lives and sing:
Set sail! We’re fearless traders
who plunder and explore,
we are sadistic raiders
and sailors of the shore:
when vicious winds are blowing,
we’re sailing and we’re rowing,
and when the cock is crowing,
we’re back at Elsinore.
commitment of the gales,
the hurricanes that ravage
and tear apart our sails.
So coast guards, get the message
that you can’t stop our game,
for we have found the passage
to riches and to fame!
Set sail! We’re fearless traders
who plunder and explore,
we are sadistic raiders
and sailors of the shore:
when vicious winds are blowing,
we’re sailing and we’re rowing,
and when the cock is crowing,
we’re back at Elsinore.
Dead Man’s Point
and that they mustn’t hang about!
The crew did nurse their dying mate;
meanwhile the tide was rolling out,
and since he didn’t move, they said
it was most likely he was dead.
but, just in case, left out his head,
and placed a bottle in his hand,
and in the other a loaf of bread,
bade him farewell with tear-filled eyes
and sailed away ‘neath solemn skies.
and when their ship was out of sight,
we checked the barrow on the shore,
unearthed him in the fading light,
made sure the hapless lad was dead
and poured his wine and broke his bread.
Father Duff’s Confession
was such a tranquil place to be,
full of that peace that other priests may cherish
and all that effing amity.
contempt for sinners on their knees,
their little jealousies, small flaws, mild curses
and petty infidelities.
on hearing what he’s dealing in:
though his confession box was always busy,
he’d never heard a venial sin.
called Rosses Point whose folk at least
confess to murder, plunder, rape and pillage
each time they’re talking to their priest.
the world was wild and virtue dead;
I took the crucifix down from the altar
and hit it hard across his head.
has changed my life, and I have learned
to love the holy sacrament of confession
and see their absolution earned.
or Two-armed Nathan, and in glee
Black Jack and all his gang would come to greet me
and take me with them on a spree.
this knowledge I shan’t leave you in;
besides, I’ve always loved that ring you’re wearing.
Forgive me, for I’m about to sin...
Pirate Song
the ocean and the shore,
and we have sailed the Seven Bays
from Glinsk to Mullaghmore.
who wish to face their fears
and bury them together like
congeneal buccaneers.
tomorrow to Strandhill,
thereafter to Culleenamore –
we won’t be standing still!
for profit and for fun,
and if we lose some of our own,
there’s naught that can be done.
who love to rob and shoot,
like Captain Longarm and his crew,
we cheat and keep the loot.
the men who lost their lives,
we turn the vessel and set sail,
returning to our wives.
from those unlucky ships
and split it almost fairly with
a shanty on our lips.
that pirates sing about
when they conclude a hard night’s work
over a glass of stout.
The Turkish Knife
became the pirate captain’s pride
and toy until the night when Quirky
Quintillus took Black Jack aside:
‘Sir, Semi-savage Sven seems willing
to test the power of your knife:
he says your favourite sport is killing,
and that you’ve no regard for life.’ -
‘I’ll show him what my favourite sport is,
and he’ll be in for some surprise:
I’ll kick him full of rigor mortis,
and then I’ll stab him till he dies!’
in front of the entire crew,
and in amazement we could witness
the things a Turkish knife can do.
And from that day we tried to bridle
our tongues, more than we did before.
His Turkish knife was never idle
for long, and often he would roar:
‘I’ll show him what my favourite sport is,
and he’ll be in for some surprise:
I’ll kick him full of rigor mortis,
and then I’ll stab him till he dies!’
Elsinore House Rules
and fellow pirates, here
you can relax with one who spends
his loot on wine and beer.
Here is sufficient food, and booze
the ocean for to drown:
be welcome, but take off your shoes
and keep your voices down.
My wife is fussy when it comes
to noise and dirt, I say,
she even nags about my crumbs
at breakfast every day.
And, under pain of death, no word
of how we earn our bread,
cos if my Elsie ever heard
about it, I’d be dead.
Be careful what you say and when,
there is too much at stake:
my wife thinks I’m a fisherman
who’s had a lucky break.
from many a raid and theft,
from golden chalices we’ll drink
which the Armada left,
some rough tobacco we shall smoke
after a hard night’s work,
get snug in Night’s forgiving cloak
to drink and never shirk.
But careful what you say and when,
there is too much at stake:
my wife thinks I’m a fisherman
who’s had a lucky break.
unless you wear a beard,
but if she’s crossed by any brute,
she is the one who’s feared.
She trusts you not, to say the least,
no sailor hates you more,
and if it wasn’t for the priest,
she’d show you all the door.
Be careful what you say and when,
there is too much at stake:
my wife thinks I’m a fisherman
who’s had a lucky break.
Funny Crossbones
a lady on a ship with flaws,
but as the waters gathered round her,
a stately pirate vessel found her.
where mouth-to-mouth she didn’t lack,
and from the time she did recover,
the maid became the first mate’s lover.
only the first mate stayed away
until, exhausted from the action,
he joined the vessel’s bingeing section.
with Captain Longarm and his men.
Her head appeared above his porter’s;
he said ‘I’ll bring you to our quarters.’
‘Not with a breath like that you’re not’,
smiled at the captain and retired
with the new cabin boy he’d hired.
and many now stayed off the drink -
hoping to get a turn, they’d quarrel,
intrigue and even get immoral.
on deck; she’d chosen him to spend
the night with her, leaned at the railing
and asked about the art of sailing.
the shipmates heard a massive splash
and rushed on deck, and here their saviour
soon justified his odd behaviour:
discomfort and sobriety,
so with the limb I got my name from
I brought her back to where she came from.’
where smokes and whiskey were supplied:
the captain’s cabin shook with laughter,
and they drank heavily ever after.
The Ballad of Two-armed Nathan
of a man who meant no harm,
how in battle, cruel and gory,
our friend Nathan lost his arm.
when a cutter came our way;
heedless of the seriousness
of a sight we see each day,
we approached the coast guard vessel,
holding out a pile of cash,
not expecting any hassle,
but their captain was a fresh
face who didn’t know the custom.
When the coast guards came on board,
seeing that he couldn’t trust ‘em,
good old Nathan drew his sword.
But one coast guard, faster, bolder,
with a little servant’s hump,
cut his arm off at the shoulder
which fell deckwards with a thump.
Gather round to hear the story
of a man who meant no harm,
how in battle, cruel and gory,
One-armed Nathan lost his arm.
grabbed the cutlass with his left,
cut the coast guard into slices
to avenge the armèd theft,
then, just like his pirate brothers
loving bloodshed, gore and fun,
killed their captain, and the others
realised the best man won.
They apologised sincerely
for our suff’rings, wounds and cuts,
and the deck revealed most clearly
that they certainly had guts
and were heading for the gutter,
with no unharmed man around:
we cut holes into their cutter,
and we sent them to the ground.
Gather round to hear the story
of a man who meant no harm,
how in battle, cruel and gory,
One-armed Nathan lost his arm.
we all shouted. ‘With your gift
you’d defeat the wily Pathan!’,
but the hero looked quite miffed.
‘One-armed Nathan, what’s the matter?’,
asked Old Pete, as I recall.
‘I don’t like that fact, and better:
I don’t like that name at all!’
Once the gaping wound was serviced,
Nathan with his arm was gone,
took it to the taxidermist,
had it fixed and sawn back on.
‘May King Herod’s fate befall me,
if I bear that name’, he swore:
‘None of you shall ever call me
One-armed Nathan any more!’
Gather round to hear the story
of a man who meant no harm,
how in battle, cruel and gory,
Two-armed Nathan lost his arm.