A man I met in London town
Proposed a thing to me—
He offered me a brand new ship,
But not to sail the sea.
He wanted me to soar the skies
In his ship the Lady Jean
An air ship—can you ‘magine that?—
With a shining bronzy sheen.
She’d an engine run by hissing steam,
And her sails were sheets of tin
That turned to catch the rising winds
With cogs, and gears, and gin.
Her crew it was a motley lot,
A mix of tars and science,
But pirates all beneath our coats,
And bent on self-reliance.
We’d sidle up all silent-like—
Well, with a hissing lot of steam—
And drop upon our targets
From ropes ties to the beam.
They never saw us coming,
And we razed a lot of gold.
Sometimes so damn successful
That we over-filled the hold.
We’d drop down on the lassies,
And we’d scoop them up for fun.
We’d ply them with the best of gin,
And poke ‘em with our guns.
Ah, the Lady Jean was a bonny ship,
Though I missed the Irish Stout.
I’m sure I’d be sailing on her still…
If the gin had not run out.
*Oh, come and sail the open skies
Upon the Lady Jean
She’s the trimmest ship you’ll ever see
A pirate’s soaring dream.