up like a gaggle of gags This || is not land Men, we’ve seen the last of her. But think with me we’re not || deprived of our land’s end she’s there…… stretching for Homeric bloody miles, || right under us Its true that she’s… …..covered by some pretty dense riff raff but our || mission is to make contact with lady land || right under us. She is ours. A resting place for our soldiers of war Men, we not of the || sea… a) we are not wet b) we are who we || off Men, we have the right to stay at war…. This is our job but there are no unions || for soldiers lost at sea. we’ve seen the last || of our work dry up. What are we s’posed to do? The dawn of peace is our dusk || Let them have it, the dreamers……….. and poets…..... .. poets of the bleeding useless But first, || there are some fixings to fix.. The correct idea is || sabotage but we failed that one too Mon Suet pipped us at the post cut the || rope next he’ll cut our throats And he’s only one of them The || enemy never wears uniform………. Some of us think we should form battalions || and mow the mob down at night The correct idea is mass death a || bloody old fashioned war but two nights of blade to blade combat has left us || pretty low Men, our reserves are extinct. || I may end the speech with a little pep talk one or two ideas for those who choose to raft it. || Some of us will choose to stay with the sob- mob.. they || will be choosing the most dangerous path of all— to those men.. I offer you my heartfelt || utmosts You will be choosing …………… (here I’ll pause) the uniform …. of the un-|| uniformed you will be entering the || theatre of the flip flops, the Hamleteers the bleeding absurds As your commander, I || will be one of those who remain I’ll || stop here, it’ll be real tragic. But won’t those fecks buy it. My excuse, and feel free to use || it, that Medusa, she got into me…. || smoking her way in, then charming out my heart How could I leave her ? (here, I’ll give a wink) || Men, what allegiance holds out here? (pause) Men, there is || Nothing but oily waves, a score of wet limbos, and two singing gins. (here I’ll make some || lewd comments ….for morale) Oink Oink .
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