I would if I could boost an M3 and sing,
but an Argon cadet's M5 broke my wings.
Blind in one eye, and missing some face;
it's a wonder I'm back from the middle of space.
If I could have been a trader,
I'd never've been a raider;
I'd have never put me black soul
into this dark and festering hole.
We crushed the Caimans of Thuruk's Beard.
We were cherished and cheered, respected and feared.
The spoils were great of credits and life;
I had me ten slaves, and a slave be me wife.
Me mates and me fell to an ill planted seed,
a treacherous gift from a thieving heart's greed;
When entering Split Fire an Argon M2 on patrol
spotted us, hunted us, and gave us a roll.
Pattie Nor fell screamin', as his Bayamon blew;
Billi Yut went out quiet, as Mandalay's do.
Toni Qo grabbed his Fuel and lit up a smoke,
And disappeared into hyper before his first toke.
So I stood alone, with no jumpdrive to use;
I dished out and took some hellish abuse.
But in the end, I heard the cadet's cry
"Die, stinking pirate!" Quoth the cadet, "Die!"
They pulled me from space and brought me in,
they put machines on me that won't let me sin.
Here I sit in my cell, me battered body's hell,
with me tale and me glories to ponder and tell.
The Grande Olde Days (... of piracy past)
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