Anecdote time .... When my father was in the British navy in WWII, his rank was Petty Office Radio Mechanic, which was neither fish, flesh, fowl, nor good red herring: he turned out to have an aptitude for what we now call electronics, which at that time was a rare skill, but the only way possible at that time to increase his pay was to artificially promote him to Officer class, "but don't you ever try ordering about real seamen".

Time came for the rum ration to be doled out: measure out rum, dilute with water, serve. Officially, any grog left over at the end was supposed to be tipped over the side, but he was left in No Doubt Whatsoever that if he did so, he'd follow it. This called for some discrete back-turning.

To bring this back (heels scraping on the deck) to the Subject line, he never did say whether any drinking songs were involved.