Oh, being a Pyrate is morally wrong.
To plunder from others, because they're less strong,
Who have sweated and toiled to accumulate stores,
Fine ivory trinkets and outfits for whores,
Who have struggled with barrels of powder and shot
Risked all of their cash, and their homes, and what not
And have hoped a small profit at the end there might be,
Just to find themselves robbed by a thug out at sea!

Yes, being a Pyrate is violent and cruel,
The work of a drunken and bestial fool,
A rogue and a scoundrel, a man with no nation,
Who is scorned and is spurned by all civilization.
To fire on vessels that are not your own,
And take them from others by brute force alone,
To scream and to scare them, their gold to collect
By leaping with swords on another man's deck.

To fling out the irons to grapple and haul
And force tender lasses of virtue to fall,
To cut off the arms of their manly defenders,
And drink up their rum on a seven-day bender,
To go without washing! To go without comb!
And terrify people far away from their homes!
It's brutal and ugly! It's awful to tell!
And the soul of a Pyrate is destined for hell!

To break out the canvas, the wind on your quarter,
And bear down on prizes like hell-hounds on water!
To seize the fine fruits of another man's labor,
And sail his ship off, his fine dinners to savor!
It is cruel and barbaric! It's insane and reactive!
So why does this life seem
So goddamed attractive!?


Wolfgang Pettiwether-Jones III
Mopery and Dopery in Paris and London
Persiflage and Banter, pubs.
Birmingham, 1903