OCR Text |
Show SEAMAN'S BOYCOTT SONG By A. P. Herbert. One more plucky old ship gone down Ten men shot in an open boat Six more widows about the town One more little account to note; And if she'd gone down to a decent crew, It's little there'd be to pay, But, God, I'll do what a man can do To punish the likes of them. Oh, never a Fritz shall sail In a ship that sails with me; Never a box or bale That smells of Germany. Never the likes of they Shall soil the English shore Till the seamen of England say: "You've settled the seaman's score." I used to think that the sailor man, Whatever his alien b-red might be, Was somehow built on a healthy plan And much of a peace with you and me. But men who laugh whon a good man drowns Are made of a different clay, And I'd sail with the scum of the fi world's worst towns. But not with the likes of they. No, nover a Fritz shall sail In a ship that sails with me; Never a box or bale That smells of Germany, Never the likes of me Shall touch the German shore Till men who have Bhamed the sea Have settled the seaman's score. Easy, maybe, will the world forget The dirtiest work that these have done; The kings may pardon, the priests may pet The carrion thing they now call Hun But the man who's clung to a driftin oar And watched for a sail all day, He won't forget when there ain't no war To Hell with the likes of they. So never a Fritz shall sail In a ship that sails with me; Never a box or bale That smells of Germany. Nover can I or you Forgive those sons of Cain Till the dead have had their due And the seas are clean again. Argonaut. |