SteveMartin wrote:


The Canadian Mariner's Rhyme

He fears not where his keel may tread
Upon the seas so full of dead,
The sight of which filled him with dread,
He turns to Tornade to which he wed:

"Help me dearest, for I do fear
Those brutal Yanks who shed no tear
for enemies destroyed, they lustily cheer
and I fear we part at last, my dear."

For 'tis writ upon the stone it's told
Mess ye not with Yankee gold!
Tis ours, fair won, through hot and cold,
you take---we leave your body cold.

We fire our guns, aimed hot and true,
and behind us many enemy slew.
Who learned not the laws of the blue,
Mess not with he with lusty crew.

Privateers, so frail and light,
always try to avoid a fight.
As day wanes and turns to night,
They retire, relieved, without their fright,

Fortunate they be, they face not us,
Who win our fights with little fuss.
For in a fight it be not dumber,
Than to melee the mighty Rum Runner.

We like our Northern neighbors true,
Those Canucks with frozen toes of blue.
The seas are ours, of that no doubt,
Stay home, get fat, complain of gout.

Bloody John, Captain
Rum Runners