The legend here told is of three men half-old
Who in late summer did cross the bay-ee.
The slovenly crew would soon learn how to spew
Just a waster, a taster and Peg Boy!
The captain ’tis said preferred animals in bed,
They were held for his pleasure in shackles.
The skipper’s big hands and gargantuan feet
Did portend to the size of his tackle!
The Peg O’ My Heart was a boat broad of beam,
In the same way our cook sported ballast.
The gourmet named Oy dreamt of beautiful boys
While old harpists would covet his phallus!
Greeting the trip, still air becalmed our ship
And her diesel refused to turn over.
As Peg Boy had harbored a bilious complaint
So with gusto the farter did start ’er!
South of the bay brewed a mighty ill wind
While the wanton crew pestered the peg boy.
The cyclone fast churned, the peg boy’s butt burned,
Chef Oy bitched and minced ’bout the saute!
As she roared round the point our crew none too adroit
Tried to heave-to and batten the hatches.
The bone-smuggling chef had left un-fast the gas
While the peg boy was playing with matches!
The Captain screamed “Fire,” Oy displayed his desire
And the Peg O’ My Heart she lay shattered.
The big bay it’s said never gives up here dead
And the sharks in Oy’s dreams just get fatter!