Down to Davey

Going down to Davey Jones,

Are ye there my boy o,

The waters cold davey,

I don't really want to go.

But the old girls sinking,

Air bubbles escaping,

Eyeballs gaping,

Sea inhaling.

Davey, surely you have bones enough,

The seabed with its rusted ships,

Seirenes sing through trusting lips

Swishing tails from thrusting hips.

On the surface the bubbles stop,

Stuck within an oily slop,

Bits of dunnage bursting through,

Not a sign of any crew.

Davey!

Ye're a cruel man Jones,

Down there stealing,

Our sailors bones