Many a poet have written sailor tales

I didn’t write this but Thought it was worth posting…

Many a poet have written sailor tales

About South Sea Isles and furious gales
So, I'll not waste your time with a tale of this type
Rather, I'll write of the sweaty, greasy snipe.

He works in his hole when the temperature is right
When the thermometer reads one twenty Fahrenheit.
There's no salt water in his blood,
Just stinking fuel oil and slimey bilge crud.

He goes to sea with visions of bright sun, and wind swept spray
But there are no hours of this in his working day.
Four hours on and eight hours off, and between, turn to and watch relief
No matter whether a boot FA or a salty Chief.

He works all hours and never tires.
And he can fix anything wih permatex and bailing wire.
When the ship pulls into port with the crew all in whites
There's a standing order for him to stay out of sight.

No bronze skin for this oily stud,
He's only time for a soggy butt and a cup of mud.
He's got a leak to fix, and a pump to pack
Before he can hit his long empty rack.

When the ship's inport and the crew's ashore
He's still in his hole sweating from very pore.
While deckapes and radiogirls are filled with glee
He must again get his engines ready for sea.

But, he's not mad, and he don't cry
He's just glad that cows don't fly.
For the fact is known both far and near
That this is the life of an engineer.