Post by Administrator on Aug 11, 2021 22:55:43 GMT
Joe Earl
RIO DE JANEIRO
My mouth is as dry as a biscuit - my head a throbbing drum,
We’d been ashore in Rio and sampled local rum
We were the crew of the `Roscoe` - one of Lamport and Holts,
The booze was red and rusty with a kick of a thousand volts.
In the tropical evening, we had started our foray,
Attracted to a night club on this a Saturday;
We’d wandered out for a quiet night and a twirl around the floor,
With the ladies employed there and some that came in the door.
Quite happy we were while dancing and having a bit of a smooch,
Spending our hard earned money on girls and dynamite hooch,
All smart we were in our tee-shirts and freshly washed blue jeans,
When all of a sudden they entered - the United States Marines.
You’ve heard about the red rag, and what it did to the bull…
It seams we weren’t so welcome although the place was full,
We tolerant British sailors - well, we never turned a hair,
But it seems the Yankee `crew cuts` did not like us there.
It may have been just jealousy or dancing with their dames,
But when they’d had a drink or two they began to call us names
We had to stand our corner - we thought it only right,
To honour Merchant Seamen and stand up for a fight.
So with this altercation we had a bit of fun,
Everything went flying including lots of rum,
Chairs and tables over and a window there stove in,
Fists and knuckles bruising, connecting with a chin.
Everyone enjoyed it - we had the upper hand,
Even the marines did and most of them were canned;
But someone called the MPs they came roaring up in jeeps,
They weren’t entirely partial so we ducked into the streets.
In a bar of safety we counted up the cost,
A couple of broken nose bleeds an` a tin of baccy lost;
So Roscoe bound we made it, knowing valour prevailed,
We `turned-to` prompt next morning and later on we sailed.
The Captain’s log was open as he sat there with a grin,
Scribing down the truth of course - official now therein;
Before the book snapped shut, I saw he’d written down;
All the crew ashore last night - a quiet night on the town.
RIO DE JANEIRO
My mouth is as dry as a biscuit - my head a throbbing drum,
We’d been ashore in Rio and sampled local rum
We were the crew of the `Roscoe` - one of Lamport and Holts,
The booze was red and rusty with a kick of a thousand volts.
In the tropical evening, we had started our foray,
Attracted to a night club on this a Saturday;
We’d wandered out for a quiet night and a twirl around the floor,
With the ladies employed there and some that came in the door.
Quite happy we were while dancing and having a bit of a smooch,
Spending our hard earned money on girls and dynamite hooch,
All smart we were in our tee-shirts and freshly washed blue jeans,
When all of a sudden they entered - the United States Marines.
You’ve heard about the red rag, and what it did to the bull…
It seams we weren’t so welcome although the place was full,
We tolerant British sailors - well, we never turned a hair,
But it seems the Yankee `crew cuts` did not like us there.
It may have been just jealousy or dancing with their dames,
But when they’d had a drink or two they began to call us names
We had to stand our corner - we thought it only right,
To honour Merchant Seamen and stand up for a fight.
So with this altercation we had a bit of fun,
Everything went flying including lots of rum,
Chairs and tables over and a window there stove in,
Fists and knuckles bruising, connecting with a chin.
Everyone enjoyed it - we had the upper hand,
Even the marines did and most of them were canned;
But someone called the MPs they came roaring up in jeeps,
They weren’t entirely partial so we ducked into the streets.
In a bar of safety we counted up the cost,
A couple of broken nose bleeds an` a tin of baccy lost;
So Roscoe bound we made it, knowing valour prevailed,
We `turned-to` prompt next morning and later on we sailed.
The Captain’s log was open as he sat there with a grin,
Scribing down the truth of course - official now therein;
Before the book snapped shut, I saw he’d written down;
All the crew ashore last night - a quiet night on the town.