A ship, an isle, decipher time with the Sun,
The mirrors of the seas, continually re-run,
Periods change for historical lands,
No map has he, yet the Capt’ commands.
An isle beside an isle,
She doth lay,
The Governor’s daughter,
For sale upon the bay,
Whilst the moon reflects, the port of gold,
A Pinnace ship, as the manual told,
Put forth its great and lonely flight,
To the ever reflecting ocean night,
She fly’s the flag,
Crash into the deck,
Aboard the Dutch,
Salvage the wreck.
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A worthy vagrant,
For a Capt’ thus far,
He signs up every seadog,
In each and any bar.
And still, a ship upon her seas,
Went sailing without the winds of ease,
And moved so slowly, the moon so pale,
That Frigate ship, she hardly set sail.
The marsh is thick,
The Galleon sails heavy,
The wind blows hard,
Capt’ hold her steady…
Attack, attack , via ground via sea,
The Capt’s men are shaken then angry.
The victorious winnings, of the sea faring buccaneer,
Again have vacated the towns food and beer.
Oh Sir, Oh Sir,
There is land upon the yonder,
Why not harbor?
Maybe divy upon the plunder?
Imagine the wealth?
The riches we could combine?
Then that stingy old Capt’….
Hickman was left behind.
2 Dudes and a NES 