It's that time of year again.
'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the ship
Not a pirate was workin'; none feared Bosun's whip.
The bottles of grog were all empty and dry,
Along with the brandy, the scotch and the rye.
The Captain and Mate were both snug in their beds,
While everyone else had a hammock instead.
Cook in the galley and I in the nest
Were the last to succumb to an uneasy rest.
When I saw on the waves and across the dark ocean
A vague ghostly shape was quickly approachin',
I grabbed for my spyglass and squinted an eye
( To find out which standard this spectre would fly.Collapse )