He be the salt in the ocean, a fowl taste and stink

shallow bastards everywhere, nor a drop to drink

transparency the sail, a wind doth blow a sway

It out the feared fiend, at last gave him away

look to the port, fir ye may get caught

ye drown in a lake of sorrow, fir a friend he can be bought

Whence set foot on terra firma, chastise yir other hand,

be glad fir  smallest scars, from the very merry band

be kind in choice of  evil, thy head be in the sand

next time yir out at sea, my friend,I will be on dry land