LET THERE BE NO MOANING AT THE BAR…

LET THERE BE NO MOANING AT THE BAR…

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Old sailors sit

And chew the fat

About things that used to be,

Of the things they’ve seen’

The places they’ve been,

When they ventured out to sea.

 

They remember friends

From long ago,

The times they had back then,

The money they spent,

The beer they drank,

In their days as sailing men.

 

Their lives are lived

In the days gone by

With the thoughts that forever last.

Of bell bottom blues,

Winged white hats,

And good times in their past.

 

They recall long nights

With the moon so bright

Far out on the lonely sea.

The thoughts they had

As youthful lads,

When their lives were wild and free.

 

They know so well

How their hearts would swell

When old glory fluttered proud and free.

And the underway pennant

Such a beautiful sight

As they plowed through an angry sea.

 

They talk of the chow

Ol’ cookie would make

And the shrill of the bos’n pipe.

How salt spray fell

Like sparks from hell

When a storm struck in the night.

 

They remember old shipmates

Already gone

Who forever hold a spot in their heart,

When sailors were bold,

And friendships would hold,

Until death ripped them apart.

 

They speak of nights

Spent in bawdy houses

On many a foreign shore,

Of the beer they’d down

While gathering around,

Telling jokes with a busty whore.

 

Their sailing days

Are gone away,

Never again will they cross the brow.

But they have no regrets,

They know they are blessed,

For honoring the sacred vow.

 

Their numbers grow less

With each passing day

As the final muster begins,

There’s nothing to lose,

All have paid their dues,

And they’ll sail with shipmates again.

 

I’ll hear them say

Before getting underway

That there’s still some sailing to do,

They’ll say with a grin that their ship has come in

And the Lord is commanding the crew.

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