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Arrrr me hearty an' welcome t' me humble quarters here on Th' Ravaged Harlot. If ye want t' serve with me fine crew, ye best prove yerself useful  but know that th' life at sea is harsh an' cruel. So be ready t' walk th' walk or walk th' plank, unless ye prefer t' be keelhauled. If ye decide th't th're's nothin' better to do than some good ol' fashioned pillage, plunderin' 'n lootin, th're's ' a couple o' things any landlubber should know before ye first set sail. The links on th' port side will take ye swabbies t' somethin' I scribbled down when I was out o' rum, so ye best read it.

***

Cap'n Kali grabs his bottle o' rum, quaffs it down and belches loudly. So ye 'lubber want to 'ear 'bout th' high seas eh?

                A distant ship commin' in fast,

                a thundering roar - there goes yer main mast.

                Drunken warcries are suddenly heard,

                with th' faint interruption of a squeakin' bird.

                Out of the mist ye can see Jolly Roger flyin' high,

                abandon hope - ye kno' yer end is nigh.

                Laughter bellows as these men, wicked 'n vile,         

                prepare t' board ye on th' port side.

                Battle ensues, steel clash 'n blood runs free,

                throats are slit 'n th' bastards cackle with glee.

                Agonizin' screams fills th' air,

                dead men all over with an empty stare.

                A scarred man flashes a cold grin

                as he viciously hooks ye under th' chin.                       

                Ye gasp in disbelief as his falchion lands true,

                pain eruptin' - worse than ye ever knew.

                Yer plea for mercy is silenced by a roarin' wave,

                Yer on yer way t' th' sailor's grave.

                In Davy Jone's locker shall yer soul forever rest,

                as th' thousands of others sent there by Iapage's best.

Arrrr!