Come down Morticia, helmsperson, steer nothing to the left of 090. Gather 'round and listen to an old tale of the sea. It's from memory, so, cut me some slack.

The Loch Arcre' was a clipper tall
With seven and twenty hands in all
Twenty to man and reef and haul
A skipper to sail, and a Mate to bawl
"Tally onto the tackle falls! heave now and start her, heave and pawl!"

Hear the yarn of a sailor, 'tis an old yarn
Learned at sea.
The crew were shipped and they said "Farewell,
so long me tottie, you lovely gal,
we sail today should we fetch to hell
It's time we tackled the wheel a spell." The dockside loafers talked on the quay (key) The day they towed her down to sea,
"Lord, what a handsome ship she be,
Cheer her sonny boys, three times three"!

The dockside loafers gave her the shout
As the red funnel tugboat towed her out,
They gave her the cheer as the custom is
And the crew yelled back, "Give our love to Liz"!
"Three cheers bullies for the old pier head,
and the bloody stay-at-homes," they said.

Then the grayness, the coming on of night
She dropped the tug at the Tusker Light,
Topsails went to the topmast head
To a chorus that fairly well woke the dead.
Her yards were trimmed and she slanted south
With her royals set, and a "bone in her mouth"

They crossed the line, and all went well
They ate, they slept and stuck the bell,
And I give you gospel truth when I state
The crew could find no fault with the Mate.
But, one night, off the river Platte,
She freshens up and blows like thunder,
Buried her deep lee scuppers under
The Captain says "I mean to hang on 'til her canvas busts or her sticks are gone." Which, the blushing loonie did;
'Til at last, overboard went the mizzenmast.
Then a fierce squall hit the Loch Arcre'
Buried her down to her waterways,
She couldn't lay to, nor yet pay off
Her decks swept clean in the bloody though.
E're the watch below had time to dress
She was cluttered up in a blushing mess
The main shrouds gave and the forestay
Green seas carried the wheel away;
Her masts were gone, and before you knowed
She filled by the head, and down she goed.
The crew made seven and twenty dishes
For the big jack sharks and the little fishes;
Over their bones the water swishes.

Now, the wives the girlfriends they wait in the rain
For a ship that wont come home again
"Oh, it must be them head winds," they say, "She'll be home tomorrow, if not today,
I'll just nip home and air the sheets, buy the fixins
and cook the meats, as my man likes, as my man eats".
Home they go, up the windy streets; they're thinking their men are homeward bound,
With anchors hungry for English ground,
But, the bloody fun of it is, they've all drowned.
Hear the yarn of a sailor,
"tis an old yarn, learned at see. John Masefield