annual xmas poem

Discussion in 'Submariners' started by babystew, Dec 16, 2010.

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  1. twas the night before christmas, he lived in a crowd.
    in a 60 man berthing with oppo's so loud.
    i had come down the fin with presents to give,
    and to see just who in this boat did live.
    i looked all about, a strange sight did i see.
    no tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
    no stockings were hung, just no8's close at hand,
    on the bulkhead hung pictures of a far distant land.
    a sobering thought came into my mind, for this place was different,
    it was so dark and dreary.
    i had found the home of a submariner, once i could see clearly.
    the sailor lay sleeping, silent and alone.
    curled up in his bunk, dreaming of home.
    i realised the families that i've seen this night,
    owed their freedom to these sailors who were willing to fight.
    soon round the world the children would play,
    and grown up's would celebrate a new christmas day.
    they all enjoyed freedom each month of the year.
    because of the sailors like the one lying here.
    i could'nt help wonder how many lay alone,
    on a cold christmas eve on a sea far from home.
    the very thought brought a tear to my eye,
    i dropped to my knees and started to cry,
    the sailor awoke and iheard a rough voice,
    santa don't cry for this is my choice.
    the sailor rolled over and drifted to sleep,
    i could'nt control it i continued to weep.
    i kept watch for hours so silent so still,
    and we both shivered in the cold nights chill,
    i did'nt want to leave on that cold dark night,
    this guardian of honour, so willing to fight.
    then the sailor rolled over, and with a voice soft and pure
    whispered " carry on santa its christmas day all is secure ".

    as you can probably guess this was done with d & e boats in mind.
    but to all jacks where ever you are on patrol, or at home .

  2. Twas also the eve of that great Christmas day,
    When Santa was roving and then lost his way.
    Deep in the dockyard all was quiet and serene,
    There were no matelots present,
    You could see where they'd been,
    Fish and chip wrappers, pizzas and pies,
    piles of old beer cans, reached to the skies.
    So Santa crept quietly between decks to see,
    If any were waiting a visit from he.
    He was deep in the bowls of a ship at the dock,
    South Railway I think,
    When he noticed a sock.
    So with present in hand in the sock on the bunk,
    He pushed in his arm and got covered in spunk.
    As he screamed jack rolled over and cursed at the din,
    He said "fuck off Santa ,
    I've got all night in,
    So Santa took off with his sack and his sleigh,
    And has never returned from then til this day.
  3. :pukeright:
  4. Agreed
  5. A Cautionary Tale of the Night before Christmas

    Twas the night before Christmas and even the Guardroom was still
    The Main Gate Sentry 'ad just about 'ad his fill
    Bootnecks coming back aboard pished as a fart
    Checkin' their IDs till his eyes did smart.

    He was cold and bored and wanted his pint and a fag
    But the wee small hours on Sentry they do tend to drag,
    getting pinged for duty at Crimbo really was the pits
    It was even enough to give the Corps pissed the shits.

    Then round about midnight a sound he did hear
    A curious tinkling noise came to his ear
    He checked out the main drag but not a soul was in sight
    Finally he looked up and got a terrible fright.

    Up there in the night sky was a thing to behold
    Eight bloody reindeer pullin' a sleigh through the cold
    The fat bloke in back was all dressed in red
    Our poor Royal he nearly dropped dead.

    "Santa you cnut." he screamed into the sky
    "tonight is the night that you're gonna die"
    His cocked his rifle quickly and with a savage grin
    He brassed up poor Santa with a terrible din.

    The sleigh and it's cargo crashed in a hoofin' heap
    From the jolly fat man and Rudolf there wasn't a peep
    The Guard turned out all expecting the worst
    Just to find the sentry giving poor Santa a curse.

    The Guard Commander disarmed him yelling "What the Fcuk!"
    You'll go down for life at your CM, you're bang out of luck."
    "The fat cnut got what he asked for" sneered our murderous Royal Jolly
    "No sign of the Yves St Laurant LBD* I wanted and they cost serious lolly."

    "Quick lads" yelled the Corporal "fetch shovel and grab spade,
    we'll bury the fat red clothed twat before Morning Parade"
    The Troop dug out for their Oppo, they felt his pain and his grief
    Many a Royal has died for his dress sense, to get payback was blessed relief.

    The Moral of our story dear reader is crystal for all to see
    But for the sake of the Pongoes, I'll picturise the obtuse
    Do not mess with an RMs wardrobe, it can lead to awful abuse
    and don't dare to welsh on some heels or a skirt
    for even the blessed Santa'd get bloody hurt!

    I thang yew. :D
    Standing by.
    PS Knock up your own before being a smart cnut! :wink:
  6. The verse NZBooty missed.

    But santa was tracked by the elves of the north,
    And on seeing his demise, the pack then set forth.
    That fuckin bootneck will suffer for this,
    You can't just kill santa, "It's taking the piss.
    They arrived at the barracks and cast a great "spell"
    A curse on all booties, and Pongos as well,
    And so thats the reason, "elf curse", not luck,
    Has made bootneck's and Pongo's as ugly as fuck.
  7. :lol:

    Sure Booneck's are ugly and maths makes 'em sweat
    But their rippling bodies get them sexual sucess
    While Matelots eat Ginsters and over fitness don't fret
    The fair maids of Gosport disdain their caress
    Now "It's your turn in the barrel, Jack." may sound a bum rap
    But apparently its the only way that a Sailor can trap. 8O
  8. Alas your mistaken you've listened to crap,
    Its disturbingly easy how matelots can trap,
    And six packs and muscle are well out of vogue,
    however said this is a bit of a rouge,
    The smooth debonair looks the style of the day,
    That's why poor booties are destined to pay,
    Whereas jack pleasures are free and bestowed with a grace,
    By real tasty women,.. who love a fresh face.
    But don't get despondent old booty you'll find,
    There's women for you at the school for the blind. :wink:

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