Six men are afloat for a week, on a boat,
And three of them know what they're in for,
Three of them don't, they're the new boys, the scrotes,
The ones that Skip has bought gin for.
Now Alastair, Derek and Frank, have some nautical years in the bank
And they now know what they're doing
But Richard and Colin, and Tam (a pathetic replacement for Dan),
Will soon be learning their crewing.
They are taking a lead from the skipper,
who says he's sailed well since a nippper.
They watch all his moves, the way that he proves,
there's not a nautical hope for old Slipper.
They set sail off round Skye to a place with a guy
Who flutters his lashes at Tamas,
who conceals his arouse at the sight of a blouse
Which he's sure must be worn by a lass
From Isle-orifice with sunshine, ah bliss
But onwards past Kyle, our hearts sank
Somethingís wrong, itís not right, we've done the first night
And forgotten the quiet man Frank!
So a boat to a train and a walk in the rain
From Plockton Frank steers to Portree
But the boy won't regale with salacious detail
On why he was late to the sea!
Tam rises and swims (still pissed on the gins)
And after a night on the dutch beer
Takes courage and zeal and says gieí us that wheel
And shows a remarkable skill at the steer.
Nine knots with the blow and we hit Badachro,
Moor up, to the shore, all dead thirsty.
But our mouths all go dry and appetites die
At a beautiful sight .... Oh Kirsty!
Pints of good ale (and ootside a reet gale)
But the snug of the inn is so warming
After steaks, prawns and beef (and belts out a reef)
Nav and McPhail get quite boring!
The flaccid is shuttled and drunkenness scuttled
As a sobering return is right gusty
In our beds on that night only one thought burned bright
The warm auburn Aura - oh kusty!
Then a boring day wee blew
In the sway of remnants of cyclone Katrina
Kirstyís on shore and we're yearniní for more
But alas she's forgotten we've seen her!
So from the Gairloch a blast round the rocks
Where the royals would bathe from their yacht
And doon to the Kyle with breakfast roll bile
And a mooring with showers that are hot.
Skipperís gins they are slooshed - and soon we're all scooshed
And the blood is starting to thin
McPhail gets all flirty, with a bird, who's quite dirty
A seagull - she was preening for him!
Up to the hotel into armchairs we fell
For scallops and more talking bollocks
But Skip makes us flit -to a table to sit
Cus his hip bone's displaced from its rollocks.
But he cheers himself up, when two muckle pups
Come bouncing across to serve us
Itís the barmaid called Helen (she must be - those melons!)
She mutters "you sad little perverts"
Pervs we are not, says Skip, as he's got
Binoculars trained on lit windaes
From the deck o the boat, four pervy old scrotes
Are watching action wahey!! (but not Findus)
Findus is fixing, his tackle, he's mixing
A selection of heavy weight matter, he
Has nicked pots and pans and bottles and cans
And four of the boatís mega batteries
The next day he swings his tackle right in
And the boat it has started to heel
The helmsman is sent forward and bent
Double right over the wheel
The tackle line snaps and to loud whoops and claps
Findus retreats to his bunk
And hears their laughs and their cackle "there's nae fekkin mackerel"
And now all his feathers have sunk
So these blokes of bad manners scream over to Canna
And land at the shore for a girly,
Nav takes a crush for lass with a brush
Which has hair that is ever so curly!
So, the end of the week and itís time to seek
A theme for the 05 cruise
Could it be gales and port-bound tales
Or many a night at the booze?
Well Dan will return in 06 and he'll learn
That we've rumbled a theme to the cruising
We could be thanking the ministers - or something more sinister?
For Dan itís his secretive musing
He's not been on board to bag islands in hoards
He's harboured a secret mission
To have in each port the moorings of sorts
Which will calm all the anchorage frission
Through all of the snoring and chat oh so boring
We've noticed a fact thatís so plain
If we've learnt something here itís the Kernohan pier
That greets you again and again!
To finish this tale we mustnít now fail
In thanks for the barmaids who've served
Thank you Kirsty and Helen, and Rebecca for selling
Beers to a right bunch of pervs!
Richard ĎFindus the Fishermaní Slipper