Pour me a wet, swing the lamp, an I'll tell ee tales of the sea.
In my life I have lived through many terrible things, most of
which never happened. That don't mean they'��re not true matey
no, old salty's word aint to be doubted.
The breeze snapped the sails full with a sound like a crack of
pistol. Seven sheets to the wind, showing a clean pair of heels,
as we raced full an bye to the bidding o' the, "Trades."
Bound for the Indies and old Kingston Town. Of dark Jamaican
we would be a drinkin, of yellow fever a dyin...

R

I like the poetic style you have keep up the good work

Nice one rapscallion.