Turtle Soup

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum
Such a little ship ‘neath the tropical sun
A coffin class frigate with fourteen guns
And turtle soup for tea

The seas are slicked with teaming life
Like the crimson slit from the fish wife’s knife
You’ve never seen such in all your life
And it’s turtle soup for tea

And the tops of the date palms all bow west
Like the faithful chins on the faithful chest
The trade winds blow but God knows best
And it’s turtle soup for tea

And the negro girls in calico
With skin the colour of squid ink go
To the young geologist’s hammer blow
And it’s turtle soup for tea

The slave in Tierra del fuego
Who no longer flinched from his master’s blow
He knows something you don’t know
There’s nothing much for tea

The killing jars and the butterfly nets
The little notebook so you won’t forget
But you’ve not seen the half of it yet
You’ll not be home for tea

It’s Christmas eve in Wigwam Bay
The anchor’s slipped and the chain’s away
There’s scurvy grass on the lord’s birthday
And turtle soup for tea

Of all the little ships that left our shores
None brought a cargo back like yours
The church may shout but Darwin roars
At the age of twenty three