THE SEAFOOD SHOP CHANTYMAN'S SONG
(Greg Trafidlo & Neal Phillips)

In the city of Lincoln, Nebraska,
A frustrated sailor was born;
He read about ships that rolled out of the slips,
And went sailin' for years round the horn.
He learned all the hornpipes and chanties,
Still he's twelve hundred miles from the shore;
Instead of sea-farin', he sells pickled herrin'
At the IGA grocery store.

Chorus:
And it's way, hey, rig out the sails,
We're off for the catch of the day!
He sings, "Yo, ho! Rig out the sails,
To broil, to bake or fumé;
There's roughy and schrod, catfish and cod,
And we're runnin' a special on prawns,
He sings straight from the heart
To your shopping-cart,
It's the seafood shop chantyman's song.

He bellows his tunes o'er the speakers,
Like the chantyman sings to the crew:
"Set sail for the seafood department,
There's plenty of oysters for stew.
There's turbot and trout,
And you'll knock yourself out,
On the salmon from Frobisher Bay,
There's swordfish and shrimp,
We never skimp on the salad made fresh every day.

Chorus:
To broil, to bake or flambé.

With his gaze on a bottle of Old Spice,
Halfway down on the right in aisle ten,
He longs for the days of the tall ships.
And he dreams they're returnin' again.
And he sees himself out on the watchdeck,
Singin' cadence off Prince William sound,
While he's manning his station,
It's no imitation like those crab legs for two bucks a pound.

Chorus:
To broil, to bake, or étouffé.