They’ve hung me and strung me in gibbets and chains They’ve nailed me and jailed me in dungeons and drains They’ve burned me and spurned me with exile and censure But firstly they cursed me to live this adventure
They’ve slashed me and lashed me with the cat o’ nine tails They’ve stripped me and whipped me and fed me to whales They’ve slugged me and drugged me with stuff that I drank I’ve been bled and beheaded and walked out the plank
But I’m fast and I stand And I bow to no man I’m a fistful of water I burn ever hotter I thrive on the lashes I rise from the ashes I’m subtle as smoke And forever unbroke
I ignore them and gore them and cut them with wit I shock them and clock them and never do quit I flee them to free them for other pursuits I’ll bail without fail and with no parachute
I gleam and I’m steam and I’m fog, I’m the dark Their attacks and their racks leave no meaningful mark I choose just to lose them, I take them in stride Exhausted, they lost it, I’ve sailed with the tide.
I’ve lifted and shifted their assets and treasures I’ve ripped off and shipped off to follow my pleasure Distracted, they lacked the attention to notice I’ve purloined their coin and I’ve eaten their lotus
I’ve stolen their purse and the nurse and the maid I’m wearing their shoes and their noose and got laid And they can’t find their pants or a roach left to toke I’m a tease, I’m the breeze, I’m just fucking unbroke
If you’re lost and cast away Washed up like a broken shell Choose a Pirate Sobriquet Please don’t bring the Zinfandel. Meet me out at Pirate Rock I’ll be there just after dark Sail South from the City Docks Follow all the other sharks
Join us out at Pirate Rock- If you pass the killer whale Try to charm the giant Oc Topus that waves her tent Acles, if you’re true she’ll let you through But below the Wat’ry bones Of false and venal fakers whom She’s introduced to Davy Jones.
Pirate Rock: The tide that pulls Rising from a sea so cold Four volcanic rocky skulls Howling cliffs with toothy shoals Please ignore the beacon light It’s a a trap for enemies Seek the cave that’s black as night Sail on in and bring some cheese
Tack to starboard then to port There’s a hidden crater bay It’s a Pirate’s last resort Drop your anchor, straightaway Meet me out at Pirate Rock I’ll be there just after dark Really, I’m here ’round the clock Ever since I disembarked.
C: We stole this Rock for you We did it for a reason It’s what we wanna do Revolt in blessed treason Cast off the chains of caste To thine own self be true And welcome home at last This Pirate Rock’s for you
Don’t Disturb the Captain, an Original Pirate Rock Song by Sugarbeard & Salty Jack Spracklin, performed by The Queen’s Revenge, featuring Long Lowe Tyde and Mike O’Verbord, as recorded by Michael Russell in Winter 2023. Video by Sugarbeard, who is totally trained as a professional producer of videos
The QR will be at the Lager House in Historic Corktown, Detroit on May NINE 2023. AND YOU WILL BE THERE. Opportunities are limited for you to achieve this kind of enjoyment. Live your life ’til you’re dead, Swab. It might be $10. You can afford it. You need to get out more.
It’s just a Tuesday Night for us Rock Pirates, and this one features our friends Freedom from Concern providing a set of astounding postpunk excellence, and plus which Psychedelic Power Duo The Aromas, bracketing our Pirate Set of Original Pirate Rock (with several pirated cover songs).
The Lager house was founded in 1623, when Ma O’Spongiform opened the bar as a cover for the infamous Blue Cummerbund Gang. Ghosts are said to haunt the stage, including the spectre of Albert E. Cobo, Former Mayor of Detroit, lost and searching plaintively for his Hall.
We’ll see you there, or we’ll clap you in irons and see you walk the plank.
I did as was granted by letter of marque Now there’s never no rest for this tired old shark Every sin in my past is a rock in my sack And I carry it thus, and it’s breaking my back.
I took off to roam and I’ve traveled the world I’m looking for home and my one true girl But harbor to harbor they’ll harbor me not I’m sent back to sea like some damned Argonaut
I keep my head low and my shoulder to wheel In hopes I can shake off the dogs at my heel But a home nor a true love is never my lot There’s naught but the chase when you’ve got the Black Spot
For a night or a week I may find some sweet girl Then the lock will be changed and I’m out like a churl And I’m sailing away with the turn of the tide They’ve drained me and brained me and cast me aside
It starts with a whisper way back in the room The shadows grow longer and thicken the gloom Every crime is exposed that I’d hoped was forgot And each hand that is offered will hold the Black Spot
And the Black Spot will follow wherever I go Like the plague, like the night, a malevolent crow I refused to obey and I wont be forgave But I’ll not be mistaken for anyone’s slave Now there’s no peace for me, there’s no island or cave And my mates and my lovers lie under the waves And one day there’s one final Black Spot on my grave.
In 1968, a group of American political revolutionaries called The White Panthers* , lived in a collective at 1510 & 1520 Hill St. Ann Arbor, MI.
Although they performed valuable civic services like bombing the regional office of the CIA, and spawning the MC5 and Iggy & the Stooges, they were harsh on the collective’s children; they forbade them to watch the corporate tool Bozo the Clown on the small black and white TV, forbade them eat the colorful and sugared cereals available to the general American Public, but instead fed them meagre portions of like, bulgar, forbade them from playing merrily in the realistic grenade crater they’d painstakingly dug in the front yard as a war protest, and administered other privations too numerous to mention.
One of the youngest, shanghaied members of this commune was the still-beardless Sugarbeard. And from him they took a treasured Story Album, because he’d driven them all insane with hundreds if not thousands of serial iterations of the Pirate Side with the turntable set on auto-return-and-repeat.
Wounds suffered in childhood swim deeply forever in the darkest fathoms of consciousness, dude
The Queen’s Revenge hereby restores this excellent if severely abridged version of Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island, Narrated by Sir Donald Wolfit, for the delectation of the arbiters of zeitgeist & in hopes of finding some kind of closure, like that’s even possible when thus traumatized by hippies
*”The White Panthers” was Huey P Newton’s Idea, but later they were “The Rainbow People’s Party” because maybe not Huey P Newton’s Best Idea