There was a poor submariner who sailed the Severn seas, He never got a fuckin lot, except the odd disease, He'd scabs he got in Africa and cuts around his gob, But worse of all a fuckin lump atop his battered knob. He went down to the sickbay, to seek out some advice, Alas the duty MA, was known to not be nice, He took a look and nodded, and with a glinting eye, Said it looks like chinky foot rot, I think you may well die. Fuckin hell screamed Wreckers, are you fuckin sure? Said Rumrat with a sneaky grin, there might be just one cure, What the fuck's the cure then said Wrecks in pure panic, By now he was in total shock, and fast becoming manic. You have to do exactly,.. what I tell you to do, Said Rumrat looking furtive, as turning tight the screw, Oh yes yes yes said Wreckers, you have my utmost trust, He thought he'd better play nice, for now was shit or bust. Well first I need your tot card, said Rumrat with a grin, I also need your posby, is there any in? Then I want your pin number to get out all your pay, I need to buy some lotion to keep your lump at bay. Whats the magic potion said Wrecker feeling worried, He tried to get his fears in check,every thing seemed hurried, And why was Rumrat packing, could he have got a draft, The buzz was he was crooked, but that was "talk" down aft. But rumrat had a master plan to get the lump to shrink, He'd chop the fuckin lot off, but first he needed drink. And if the lot went tits up, which might well be a bummer, He drink the tot draw out wrecks lot and do a fuckin runner.