I’ll black me boots, and block me hat-
Alas, it seems I’m old and fat.
The years I’ve known all take their toll-
And yet my tales do seem quite droll…
A dram or two, an’ wi’ out fail-
I’m like to spin a Traveler’s Tale.
Do ye ken young Lord Loch’nivar?
Wha’ stole the lass and fled afar?
Now, mate, the lad could use a blade!
An’ “faith”! ‘e knew the fightin’ trade.
An ‘orse, an ‘orse, and a guid blade-
Necessities to ply me trade.
What trade be that? Dost thou inquire-
Why, lad, a fightin’ man fer hire!
An’ Walter Raleigh? What a rake!
I let ‘im live fer ‘er ‘ighness’ sake.
Now, Nelson? Ah, more to my taste-
‘e died at sea, My, what a waste.
Lord Admiral of bold England’s fleet-
The mon ‘ad never known defeat.
Fergive me, if I ramble on-
Of ports I’ve seen, an’ folk I’ve known..
Wi’ age they says the minds do fail…
I live wi’ in me Traveler’s Tales.
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[This message has been edited by Gunslinger (edited 03-13-2000).]