"THE SAILORMAN'S MENOO"

(To a Shipowner. By a Shell-back)

It's mighty fine, yer talkin', but you never done no trips

In the bloomin' leaky foc'sle of yer leaky, rotten ships;

And though you gulls the public with a sham Menoo for us,

It isn't printed lies as makes provisions worth a cuss;

And even silly emigrants will tell you straight and true

That the test of grub is grubbin', not the advertised Menoo.

I'm talkin' now, not beggin' for a chance to starve and work

In an undermanned old tanker with a skipper like a Turk;

With a cook as larnt 'is cookin' when 'e 'ad to cook or beg,

Or go into an 'orspital to nurse a cranky leg;

And what I says I means it, and my words is plain and true,

Which is more than any sailorman will say for yer Menoo.

I'll allow that in the look of it, the print of it I mean,

That all you say is sarved to us; but is it good or clean?

And wot's wet 'ash, or porridge, or any other stuff,

When at the very best of it there's 'ardly 'arf enough?

Not even with the cockroaches that's given with the stew,

Though I notice they nor maggots wasn't down in yer Menoo.

There's the tea and corfee talked of, but folks ashore ain't told

That the swine as bought it for you winked 'is eye at them as sold.

For sailormen's best Mocha was never further East

Than a bloomin' Essex bean-field; and the tea ain't tea—at least

It's on'y "finest sweepin's" from the docks, and wot a brew

It makes when sarved in buckets to drink to yer Menoo!

The pork and beef on paper, or a tin dish, makes a show,

But you'd want yer front teeth sharpened if you tackled it, my bo'!

For the beef is still the ancient 'orse wot worked on Portland Pier,

And the pork is rotten reasty, that was inwoiced twice too dear

If they charged you 'arf a thick 'un for the whack you gives the crew,

With the pickles and the butter set out fine in yer Menoo.

I'd like to take you jossers, as thinks as sailormen

Is a grumblin' lot of skulkers, just one trip and 'ome agen;

For when yer 'ands was achin' with sea cuts to the bone,

And the Baltic talked north-easters, you'd be alterin' of yer tone,

And might'nt think wot's wrote in print is necessary true,

And perhaps when you was safe agen you'd alter our Menoo.