JACK TARR KNOCKED A RIVET OUT O' HER IRONS

JACK TARR KNOCKED THE RIVET OUT O’ HER IRONS Soon as our transport rolled an pitched out o’ Plymouth the tars turned a blind eye to those hot-arsed wenches under hatches For gone we was off the hooks to foreign parts despatched A midshipman knocked the rivet out her irons, my Meg I snatched So as to doss down close aboard o’ the gangway’s hurry-scurry Quick sticks on the lower decks our barque a school of Venus Rum doxies in a muck o’ sweat warming-pans for prisoners Scurvy curs joined giblets with fubsy poxed-up cats While tarry breeks cared not a joy bout the spats of tarts All them loose lags went a prowlin for mutton pork poultry quail Me I seeked my virgin pullet a game un what craved tail So methought to take a turn amid her frills below Love lane Nug an smuggle up neat as sixpence my fortune’s gain Every man jag o’ em grabbled him an amorosa to swyve or take wyf Even if she be unfurnished in the garret or swivel-eyed dirty drab Or scab or sorry slattern. Odds bodikins, no double-dugged scrub!

So no hot whim to go a-girlin but face and brace to favour her Lest she be assigned to a government labourer or settler’s scourer Cos Meg is no forward wench i’faith more rags than ribbons No fly-by-night no trapse no loose i the rump wanton Rather a fancy piece no Judy to fob me off or faddle with my heart Therefore did I screeve a billy-do for my canary what seemed sweet on me Meg has smote me under the fifth rib not a jaw-me-dead but jem For I wished to be swished cuffed together as twere I fell arsy-varsy up in the boughs in amours two lifers marinated in chummage Michael Small January 6, 2021