VIII The Laird Jake...Home Free...almost
We were finally now in Kingston townA full two days since our brush with death
We tied up in a yard I'd known
Run by a fellow name of Macbeth
We discussed our luck
And wondered why
Old Al had arrived to run amuk
from hundreds of miles as the crow flies
Mac's been around and stays in touch
With New York State on the southern shore
He hears all the gossip bout cargoes and such
Say he "you're alive!" I'd have thought for sure
That you and The Jake were done for good
Seems Duff had called the Chicago boss
He'd placed a bounty for anyone that could
Provide info on that booze and where it was
Seems Al was so mad he swore he'd get
Both you and the Jake and bring you down
Duff felt he knew where you could be met
He figured you'd try for Kingston town
Old Al and his gang they drove all night
Hot as a pistol and ready for bear
They took Duff's boat and Duff complained
So they took Duff with em ain't that a tare
Now no one yet knew of the little war
That had taken place but word would be out
Like wildfire once the newsies knew
We could see the headlines and hear the shouts
Hoodlums lose battle with a G men's boat
Now Al and Duff and his pretty crew
Were going to be guests of special note
In Sing Sing prison which was their due
For trying to sink the G men's ship
When what they were really trying to do
Was recover their booze and send me on a trip
To the bottom of the lake in cement shoes
With Al and Duff safe away and the rye in tact
We had run the gauntlet and come out fine
Now it was time for the final act
Sell that booze and head for warmer climes
Mac was thinking he might be part
Of this gang of modern bucaneers
Seems he didn't have the heart
To watch the yard go for arrears
In bills and taxes due for years
This yard's a ball and chain he said
I'm willing to be the low man here
If you vote to take me on instead
Of leaving me here to a certain demise
By boredom and financial loss
While you're all running under tropic skies
Sailing The Jake for barbados
His plaint was strong we felt his pain
How hard life is when fortune strays
And you've missed the gold ring yet again
We met to decide Mac's future days
Mac had an kind of ace of sorts
Seems he knew a buyer for the booze
He'd trade his name for a berth
The rye was worthless unless we choose
To sell it for cash and make all sail
For the North Atlantic and Miquelon
Next Bermuda with warm winds on the rail
Then one eight zero to the port of Hole town
Mac being a chandler he had the charts
We'd need to steer clear of the rocks and reefs
A Great Lakes skipper was my art
Salt water sailing was turning a new leaf
We had our vote and one and all
Felt for Mac and his predicament
So being good blokes we signed him on
As quarter master which suited his temperament
Seems my voice is kind of dry
Its tough to make this saga rhyme
Time to quench my thirst with that bottle o rye
We'll pick it all up another time
Poetry by josephus
Read 646 times
Written on 2019-04-11 at 03:01
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