The Tale Of Dave the Nautical Peanut

The Tale Of Dave the Nautical Peanut

The other day,

a peanut by the name of Dave,

was telling me the story

of his life upon the ocean wave.

He’d travelled every single ocean blue,

and all the seas from Kathmandu

to the fiery waters of Peru,

and he’d even been to Wigan, too.

Once he had been a pirate, after treasures bright,

until he fell awake one night,

and saw the light of a Hunter’s Moon,

and heard the sound of a bass bassoon.

He joined the Royal Navy Rum – sorry –

he joined the Royal Navy,

rum was his downfall, and too much gravy;

until one day he met a peanut girl,

who left his head in a mighty whirl.

Her name was Ella, she was a beauty;

but for a 12-year stretch he’d trothed his duty;

she didn’t mind, she loved the ocean,

and had a chest of suntan lotion.

For nine long years, and three slightly longer,

they loved and danced, mainly the Conga,

until came the day his years were up,

they left the boat, and one of them was assaulted.

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