ON BECOMING A PIRATE OF PENZANCE (Version 2)

I am the very model of a fellow who writes doggerel
And hoping for a weekend full of rest and beer…well several;
Is press-ganged by his wife and kids – in short they’re most fanatical –
And now I have to dress in something seen as quite piratical.
So sat before a mirror on this morning feeling mutinous;
A red bandanna on my head, a dyed black beard – ridiculous!
An old pierced ear is opened up and filled with something pendulous;
It’s been a while I hope it doesn’t bring about my tinnitus.

Debate is taking place amongst my kids – it sounds quite ominous –
On which of my two legs should be removed – it was unanimous!
A peg leg for the right; and I begin to feel quite nauseous
At one’s idea that Daddy’s face be conjoined with an octopus.
The meeting of my eyes and Sal’s mascara has been unforeseen
And part of me is wondering if maybe it is Maybelline.
I must admit I don’t look bad – somewhat the rakish libertine
A bit like Johnny Depp in that film Pirates of the Caribbeen. (cough!)

With tricorn hat upon my head, a sea change washes over me.
No more the gentle man am I; I’ll say goodbye to bonhomie.
I must be blessed with pirate blood; stirred up to face the enemy.
The hist’ry books will soon be filled with stories of my infamy.
My name will be the one that folks’ll forward as the one to fear;
The number one to go to when you need a murd’rous buccaneer.
My dander’s up and I am restless for a ship to commandeer
To go off raiding all along the coast of darkest Devonshire.

I’ve got the children off to bed and tell our Sal I’m all done in,
But she has turned quite saucy after knocking back the Tarquin’s Gin.
She says I look like Ross Poldark; all fearless, brave and masculine;
When normally she’s searching through the drawers to find some Aspirin
Now she is sprawled upon the bed and purring like a jaguar;
I feel just like a man again; a proper hunter-gatherer.
The babbling brook that was our love is raging like Niagara.
So I’ll unsubscribe from emails that offer cheap Viag-a-ra.

So hoist the Jolly Roger and salute my grand epiphany;
What happens next is private and not fit for polite company.
A romantic break is booked with Thomas Cook (minus progeny);
The pirate gear is in the case for our few days in Tuscany.
Let’s raise a glass to piracy, synonymy and old romance;
To Mr G & Mr S for giving me a fighting chance.
To once more be the one who finds it comf’table to wear men’s pants;
I bless the day I chose to be a dashing pirate of Penzance.

 

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