The caper was planned with clockwork precision,
No way would they fail, once started their mission,
Though they were Kansans, and landlubbers three,
All had felt beckoned, the call of the sea.
With a wee bit of grog, to waylay their fears,
"Grog" is sea lingo, for a couple of beers,
They stood at the ready, each face painted black,
With a wee bit more grog, in a brown paper sack.
The belltower clock, finally struck one,
The time had arrived, the mission begun.
They crept down the stairs, and left the boys dorm,
Wouldn't you know it, it had started to storm.
The three were too brave, to be stopped by some rain,
Might also be said, they were lacking in brain,
'Cross campus they ran, to the front of the union,
Where all was prepared, for homecoming reunion.
The rowing team's scull, was out on display,
So alums all could view, on the following day,
With care and some effort, three hoisted the craft,
Onto their shoulders, both fore and aft.
They carried the boat, with some difficulty,
Off of the campus, our staggering three,
Across city streets, to a local motel,
In total exhaustion, the three and boat fell.
In swimming pool's water, the scull slid into,
Three maties were ready, to sail ocean blue,
"Row, Row, Row you boat, gently down the stream,"
The sailors were singing, then came the scream.
"What the heck are you idiots doing?"
Our three swabbies, thought perhaps they'd be shooing,
Climbed out of the boat, and out of the pool,
Their parting farewell, "Goodnight you old fool!"
Our three mighty sailors, went on to law school,
All keeping mum, about scull in a pool,
A judge and two prosecutors, turned out to be,
Our night-time adventurers, on the high sea.
Now it is time, this tale finally be told,
Our maties are aging, they're getting quite old,
The campus police, still won't get their man,
For I ain't no dummy, the statute has ran.