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Favourite matelot song

dingerbell said:
you can ave my tot if you can remember all the words of my favourite drunken matelot song.I only remember a bit of it cos I was usually pisteded whenever it was sung. It's called the mother in law song Ithink
She's a ratbag a shitbag a fu....g old whorebag
thats my mother in law
she wants rootin tootin
fu....g executing and nailin to the shithouse door....
theres something about "eyes like a dogger bank cod" as well but it's a few years since Ilast heard it.

UP SPIRITS............SPLICEEEERS!!!!

"And tattooed on her fanny,
was Al Jolson singing MAMMY,
Oh I love her,
Oh I love my mother in law

"She's got a face like a messdeck scrubber,
eyes like a Dogger Bank cod"

Sorry, overindulged watching Liverpool tonite to remember too much more..
 
Jacque-le-douste said:
"Cold as the hairs on a Polar Bears Chuff, Cold as charity an thats cold enough"
Anybody remember where that came from? Last heard in the Rosario Club Xmas 64


As cold as the fringe round a polar bears bum,
As cold as charitty and thats bloody cold ,
But not as cold as our Nell, she`s dead poor bitch she`s dead!
 
Just a few chorus's

The North Atlantic Squadron

For forty days and forty nights,
We sailed the broad Atlantic,
And never to pass a piece of ass,
It drove us nearly frantic.

Chorus
Away, away with fife and drum,
Here we come, full of rum.
Looking for women who peddle their bum,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.


In days of old when knights were bold,
And women weren't particular,
They lined them up against the wall,
And screwed them perpendicular.

In days of old when men were bold,
And Johnnies weren't invented,
They wrapped a sock around their cock,
And babies were prevented.

In days of old when pilots were bold,
And V2s weren't invented,
We'd fly our Spits and shoot down Fritz,
And fly away contented.


The cook she ran around the deck,
The Captain he pursued her,
He caught her on the afterdeck,
The dirty bastard screwed her.

For forty days and forty nights,
We sailed the broad Atlantic,
The Captain and his scurvy crew,
For want of a screw were frantic.

The Eskimo women, they are the shits,
They have no hair, they have no tits,
They whack you off with frozen mitts,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

We're off, we're off to Montreal,
We'll shag the women, we'll shag them all,
We'll pickle their cherries in alcohol,
On the North Atlantic Squadron.

When we arrived in Montreal,
She spread her legs from wall to wall.
She took the Captain balls and all,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

A-sailing up and down the coast,
Now, here's the thing we love the most:
To **** the girls and drink a toast
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

Well, off the coast of Labrador,
We took on board a floating whore,
We fucked here forty times or more,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

A-sailing up to Newfoundland,
Each sailor had his prick in his hand.
Oh say, my boys, can you make it stand?
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

The night we went to Newfoundland,
We came ashore with tool in hand,
Fucked each slut in the caribou hut,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

In Newfoundland when it got hot,
We used to fornicate a lot,
Only the fools would be pulling their tools,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

The Newfie girls are hard to screw,
They jump around like a kangaroo,
But even a kangaroo will do,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

With lustful shouts we ran about,
And practised copulation,
And when we left to sail away,
We'd doubled the population.

In Labrador we used to sit,
In the mess and shoot the shit,
With ****-all to do but swallow it,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

The BC girls are hard to lay,
All they want to do is play,
And when you lay them down to screw,
They spread their legs and piss on you.

When we got to Yankee land,
We spied a Yankee harlot,
When we came her **** was lily-white,
When we left her **** was scarlet.

When in Vera Cruz we touched,
We found that Kingston whores were such,
That when open wide you could put inside,
The North Atlantic Squadron.

In Gaspe it rained all the time,
The sun was never known to shine,
The fog was so thick you could set it in bricks,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

The girls of Gaspe town are bags,
They always seem to wear their rags;
And if they don't, their pussy sags,
From the North Atlantic Squadron.


If I had a girl and she were mine,
Upon her arse I'd paint a sign,
"Try this for size, it's really fine"
In the North Atlantic Squadron..

And when our ship is in drydock,
The whores around us all do flock.
It's every man unfurl your cock,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

And when the ship pulls out again,
And reckoned all our score up,
We'd caught a pox from every box,
That syphilized all Europe.

Frigging on the rigging,
Wanking on the planking,
Masturbating on the grating,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

The Captain's name was Slugger,
He was a dirty bugger,
On any bugger's lugger,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

The First Mate's name was Paul,
He only had one ball,
But he could shove it to the wall,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

The Second Mate's name was Andy,
His legs were long and bandy,
And he was pissing in the brandy,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

The Third Mate's name was Carter,
By God, he was a farter,
On windless days he'd start her,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

The crew they were all whiney,
They'd drink up all their winey,
They wanted head but settled for hiney,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

One seaman's name was Morgan,
He was a grisly Gorgon.
All day long he stroked his organ,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

Another's name was Wiggun,
By God he had a big 'un.
He whipped for cumming in the riggin',
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

Another's name was Slater,
He was a masturbator.
He'd pump his stump and clean it later.
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

The Captain's wife was Mabel,
Whenever she was able.
She did the crew on the messroom table,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

His mistress was called Charlotte,
Who was born and bred a harlot,
Her long white legs were made scarlet,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

The Captain's randy daughter,
Was swimming in the water,
Squealed as eels entered her sexual quarter,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

Then there was the Navigator,
He was a fornicator,
After he fucked, her ate her,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

The cook whose name was Freeman,
He was a dirty demon,
Serving menstrual stew and hymens fried in semen,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

Another cook was O'Mally,
He didn't dilly dally,
When he cum he whitewashed half the galley,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

Another cook was Herbert,
A gastronomical pervert.
He whacks it off in the sherbet,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

The Boatswain's name was Lester,
When he was a hymen tester,
He'd leave his dick in to fester,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

The engineer was McTavish,
And young girls he did ravish.
He's missing his tool for being lavish,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

A homo was the Purser,
He couldn't have been worser,
He asked the crew who said, "Oh, no sir."
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

Another one was Cropper,
Oh Christ he had a whopper.
He put it up his bum for a stopper,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

The cabin boy was Kipper,
A dirty little nipper,
With glass in ass he circumcised the skipper,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

The cabin boy, the cabin boy
The dirty little nipper
He lined his ass with broken glass
And circumcised the Skipper.

The ship's dog's name was Rover,
The whole crew did him over,
They ground this hound from Canada to Dover,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

The ship's cat's name was Kitty,
His hole was black and shitty,
Twat is twat the Captain showed no pity,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

'Twas in the Adriatic,
Where the water's almost static,
The rise and fall of ass and ball was automatic,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

On a trip to Buenos Aires,
We rogered all the fairies.
Got a dose of clap in the Canaries,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

'Twas on the China Station,
To roars of approbation,
We sunk a junk with mutual masturbation,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

The bo'sun was of use to us,
He painted his cock with phosphorus,
And by its light one stormy night,
He steered us through the Bosporus.

The firefighters have lots of fire
They never, never seem to tire
Of pulling their hose, and pulling their wire
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

The wireless boys they fly so high,
I wish to hell that they would die.
Their da da dits give us the shits
In the North Atlantic Squadron

A lazy crowd are the bastard clerks,
They piss around like a bunch of jerks.
They **** around but they never work
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

The civvies in the Ferry Command
Are always jerking off by hand.
They're the ******* scourge of this fair land
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

The Northern Electric put up poles;
They should be shoved up their *********.
They stay inside when it is cold
In the North Atlantic Squadron

The Ferry Command from Montreal,
What do they bring but sweet **** all.
Whatever the date, they're always late
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

The dear old WAAFs, I hope they'll come
And then we'll pat them on the bum;
And in the bushes our work will be done
In the North Atlantic Squadron.


Those MT men are reckless birds,
They roar around like crazy turds.
They smash up trucks with very few words
In the North Atlantic Squadron.


The RAF are on the bit,
Giving Hitler lots of shit,
And after the war they'll talk about it
And the North Atlantic Squadron.

Every night at half-past eight,
The captain and the gunner's mate,
Lay on the deck to masturbate,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

They smuggled aboard a helluva whore,
She's even taking it on the floor,
And when you're done she'll ask for more
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

The skipper said the women were clean,
But I got one he couldn't've seen,
My cock has turned a rusty green
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

We met some girls from gay Paree,
We tickled them above the knee,
They spread their legs so we could see,
The North Atlantic Squadron.

The Captain was elated,
The Crew investigated,
He fell ill and had to be castrated,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

And the ladies of the nation,
Arose in indignation,
Suffed his bum with gum in retaliation,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

So now we end this serial,
Through sheer lack of material,
We wish you luck from diseases venereal,
In the North Atlantic Squadron.

Usually only made it through 5 of em before they all started to sound the same.... :rendeer:
 
The TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS - SUBMARINERS STYLE.
ON THE FIRST DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE SENT TO ME
MY LORD MONTIQUE OF BEAULIEU

ONE THE SECOND DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE SENT TO ME
TWO BLOOD STAINED DRAWERS AND MY LORD MONTIQUE OF BEALIEU

ON THE THIRD DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE SENT TO ME
THREE FRENCH WHORES TWO BLOODSTAINED DRAWERS AND MY LORD MONTIQUE OF BEAULIEU

ON THE FOURTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE SENT TO ME
FOUR SHIT HOUSE DOORS ETC

ONTHE FIFTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE SENT TO ME
FIVE SMALL BOYS ETC

ON THE SIXTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE SENT TO ME
SIX CONVICTED VICARS ETC

ON THE SEVENTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE SENT TO ME
SEVEN SYPHALETICS ETC

ON THE EIGHTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE SENT TO ME
EIGHT ACHING ARSEOLES ETC

ON THE NINTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE SENT TO ME
NINE KNACKERS KNOCKIN ETC

ON THE TENTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE SENT TO ME
TEN TITS A TOSSIN

ON THE ELEVENTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE SENT TO ME
ELEVEN LEGS A LOCKIN ETC

ON THE TWELVTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE SENT TO ME
TWELVE T. .TS A TWITCHIN ETC

TRY SINGING THAT WHEN YOU ARE P......D !!!
 
A matelot and a pongo went walking one day,
Said the pongo to the matelot, let's kneel down and pray.
And if we have one prayer may we also have ten.
Let's have a fu*kin' prayer book, said the matelot, Amen.

The first thing we'll pray for, we'll pray for our tot.
Lord if we had one we'd all feel sh*t hot.
And if we have one tot may we also have ten.
Let's have a fu*kin' spirit room, said the matelot, Amen.

The next thing we'll pray for, we'll pray for our beer.
Lord if we had some t'would fill us with cheer.
And if we have one beer may we also have ten.
Let's have a fu*kin' brewery, said the matelot, Amen.

The next thing we'll pray for, we'll pray for smalley boys.
Lord if we had one t'would bring us our joys.
And if we have one boy may we also have ten.
Let's have a fu*kin' orphanage, said the matelot, Amen.

The next thing we'll pray for, we'll pray for our Queen.
Long may she live, long may she reign.
And if she has one sprog may she also have ten.
May she have a fu*kin' bellyful, said the matelot, Amen.

The last thing we'll pray for, we'll pray for our Duke.
Long may he live, long may he reign.
And if he catches one dose may he also catch ten.
May he catch a fu*kin' nap hand, said the matelot, Amen.

2BM
 
Chaz said:
rod-gearing said:
One I remember from the 70's.
Sang by Peter Sarsted originally. 'Where do you go to my lovely.'

You look like Lassie with acne,you smell like Biffo the Bear.
You're clothes are all tailored by Tesco's and theres lice in your pubic hair.

Chorus:
Where do you go to my lovely ,when your alone in your pit?

What are the thoughts that surround you when you go for a spine shattering s*^t?

Cant remember all the verses due to passage of time and alcohol.

Think the first couple of versus are something like:

You've got a face like lassie with acne
You dance like biffo the bear
You buy all your clothes from Barnado's
And you've got pubic lice in your hair
And up your back & down your crack
Oh yes you have for a laugh ha ha ha, ha ha ha

The buffers known in high places
I here you know him quite well
We bought him a dildo for Christmas
And he uses it for ring the bell
Oh yes he does, ha ha ha, ha

So where do you go to my lovely
When your alone in your pit
Tell me the thoughts that surround
When you go or a spine shattering shit
Oh yes you do for a laugh ha ha ha, ha ha ha

Can't remember the rest but I'm sure the last verse is something about a stokers mess playing draughts up inside her arse for a laugh ha ha ha....

Somewhere I think the following appear:

you holiday in neesoon village
and you go to Sambawang


You own carefully designed two pint tot glass,
but you never give us a wet no you don’t
 
Surely a must at any Sods' Opera




Maggie May

Liverpool, England.
Traditional words and tune.
A kinder, alternative chorus, from the south of England, is given at the bottom of the page.


I was paid off at the Home, from a voyage to Sierra Leone,
Two pounds ten and sixpence was my pay,
When I drew the tin I grinned, but I very soon got skinned,
By a girl by the name of Maggie May.

Chorus:
Oh, Maggie, Maggie May, they've taken you away,
They've sent you to Van Diemen's cruel shore,
For you robbed so many a sailor, and skinned so many a whaler,
And you'll never shine in Paradise Street no more.

I shan't forget the day when I first met Maggie May,
She was cruising up and down on Canning Place,
With a figure so divine, like a frigate of the line,
So, being a sailor, I gave chase.

Chorus:
Oh, Maggie, Maggie May, they've taken you away,
They've sent you to Van Diemen's cruel shore,
For you robbed so many a sailor, and skinned so many a whaler,
And you'll never shine in Paradise Street no more.

Next day I woke in bed, with a sore and aching head,
No shoes, or shirt, or trousers could I find.
I asked her where they were, and she answered, "My dear sir,
They're down in Kelly's knock-shop, number nine."

Chorus:
Oh, Maggie, Maggie May, they've taken you away,
They've sent you to Van Diemen's cruel shore,
For you robbed so many a sailor, and skinned so many a whaler,
And you'll never shine in Paradise Street no more.

Oh, you thieving Maggie May, you robbed me of my pay,
When I slept with you last night ashore,
And the judge he guilty found her of robbing a homeward-bounder,
And she'll never roam down Paradise Street no more.

Chorus:
Oh, Maggie, Maggie May, they've taken you away,
They've sent you to Van Diemen's cruel shore,
For you robbed so many a sailor, and skinned so many a whaler,
And you'll never shine in Paradise Street no more.






Alternative chorus:
Oh, Maggie, Maggie May, they have taken you away,
And you'll never walk down Lime Street anymore.
You may search from here to China,
you'll not find a girl that's finer,
That is finer than my darlin' Maggie May.
 
Jacque-le-douste said:
"Cold as the hairs on a Polar Bears Chuff, Cold as charity an thats cold enough"
Anybody remember where that came from? Last heard in the Rosario Club Xmas 64

Not a clue where it comes from, (I first heard it in Manchester before I joined up), but it ends "it ain't as cold as our poor Willy, 'cos 'es dead, poor bugger. 'cos 'es dead.

Just need someone to fill in the middle bit now.
 
The Duchess was a dressing a dressing for a ball,
When she spied a matelot making water up the wall,
With his bl**dy dingle dangle swinging proud and free,
Never would he stop till it was over,

Chorus: Hanging Down, Swinging Free, never would he stop till it was over,

She wrote to him a letter and in she did say "I'd rather be f*cked by a matelot than my husband any day,
With his bl**dy dingle dangle swinging proud and free,
Never would he stop till it was over,

He opened up the letter his heart it filled with pride, His b*lls began to dangle and his pr*ck began to rise,
With his bl**by dingle dangle swinging proud and free,
Never would he stop till it was over,

Chorus:

He rode up to the castle, He rode up to the hall "Good God" cried the chamber maid "He's come to f*ck us all,
With his bl**dy dingle dangle swinging proud and free,
Never would he stop till it was over,

Chorus:

Well first he f*cked the duchess,then the maidens too, but then he f*cked the butler what a dirty thing to do,
With his bl**dy dingle dangle swinging proud and free,
Never would he stop till it was over,

Chorus:

They say he's died and gone below (ahhh) they say he's down in hell (ahhh)........... They say he's up the devil and they he's up him well,
With his bl**dy dingle dangle swinging proud and free,
Never would he stop till it was over,

Final Chorus.

In the mists of time I might have missed a verse or two so if any one can add to this great sods opera song please do :thumright:
 
I'm just full of admiration for the recollection of everyone who has contributed, it is fantastic.

The memory fades is 'The Death of Nelson' capable of being written or is it just a visual performance that has to be witnessed to be appreciated?
 
Chaz said:
rod-gearing said:
One I remember from the 70's.
Sang by Peter Sarsted originally. 'Where do you go to my lovely.'

You look like Lassie with acne,you smell like Biffo the Bear.
You're clothes are all tailored by Tesco's and theres lice in your pubic hair.

Chorus:
Where do you go to my lovely ,when your alone in your pit?

What are the thoughts that surround you when you go for a spine shattering s*^t?

Cant remember all the verses due to passage of time and alcohol.

Think the first couple of versus are something like:

You've got a face like lassie with acne
You dance like biffo the bear
You buy all your clothes from Barnado's
And you've got pubic lice in your hair
And up your back & down your crack
Oh yes you have for a laugh ha ha ha, ha ha ha

The buffers known in high places
I here you know him quite well
We bought him a dildo for Christmas
And he uses it for ring the bell
Oh yes he does, ha ha ha, ha

So where do you go to my lovely
When your alone in your pit
Tell me the thoughts that surround
When you go or a spine shattering shit
Oh yes you do for a laugh ha ha ha, ha ha ha

Can't remember the rest but I'm sure the last verse is something about a stokers mess playing draughts up inside her arse for a laugh ha ha ha....

Where Do You Go To My Lovely?
 
my sister belinda, she pissed out the winder
all over my bessie sumbrero
i said you fat twat, you just pissed on me hat
she said i don't give a fukero

ay ay ay ay me an my bessie sumbrero


anyone care to finish........
 

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