THE PIRATE I AM CLAY/FERRIS © 2000 ROBER T. ROCHON BORN NAKED THAT’S ALL ON THE OUT SKIRTS OF ‘NORLEANS SOMETIME IN THE FALL HE WAS RAISED ON THE DOCKS AND THE ROMANTIC TALES OF THE ROGUES AND THE HEROES WHO LIVED UNDER THE SAILS CHORUS HE’D SAY SOMEDAY A PIRATE I’LL BE I’LL CONQUER OCEANS AND PLUNDER THE SEA I’LL WALLOW IN RICHES A MAID ON EACH HAND OH THE STORIES THEY’LL TELL OF THE PIRATE I AM HE GREW UP FIGHTING FOR MONEY AND RUM HE GOT POORER AND DRUNKER YEARS PASSED ONE BY ONE THE GIRLS LIKE TO TEASE HIM SAY HE NEEDED A WIFE HE’D RESPOND QUITE POLITELY NO MA’M NOT ON YOUR LIFE THE RUM TOOK HIS GUT THE BRAWLS HIS LAST DIME HE GOT CRAZY AND OLD MORE DETERMINED WITH TIME ONE DAY HE WAS MISSING AND THE LOCALS THEY LAUGHED THEY SAID HE FOUND HIS CLIPPER AND HE’S SAILING AT LAST TAG ROBER T. ROCHON DIED NAKED THAT’S ALL DROWNED SOMEWHERE IN THE GULF SOMETIME IN THE FALL