What a right young free man. Would sail weeks to share a pretty hand. Would row—no easy cruise. Would sail roughly on a trace sea to share a house, on a street, Broadway.
A pretty cook and her son tore his heart. Drew a bad hand: gray flowers, brown lake, hair is on fire, smoke. Grim rays so mark him. Goings got rough.
So, Man: Ship west! Go forth on a dull cruise! Walled in? Roam, oh mad son! What a hunter would bet is easily worth green fields.
Rue a choice? Why, no. A price worth venture. A godly vote frees. ‘ts why heart’s war is to knock a shield, so bear it, bear on.’Til man so guard, Boy, you’re born.
Brothers, row! Carpenter, row! You’re in a war, ‘n victory no more may bury! Butler, Baker, Coal Man, Shoemaker, Weaver, Farmer: Row! Row! Almost sands. ‘Morrow, We Land.
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This just may be cooler than that. (Betcha never thought you'd be compared to Charles Nelson Reilly...)
In a similar vein .... I rewrite Xmas songs with ballplayer names
http://valueoverreplacementgrit.com/2014/12/10/the-vorg-holiday-songbook-deck-the-hall/