The Galeiul Accord (Cover)

Stamp the deck and spit your bile, Grin like wolves and sneer awhile. Law or loot, we slash the same — We just argue who to blame! Well scrape me hull, what crawled aboard? A velvet clerk with rented sword. You powdered peacock, crown’s pet flea, A pirate with a warranty. You plunder neat with quill and seal, Then call your looting “naval zeal.” Do you apologize mid-raid? “By royal grace, be not afraid.” You kiss a ring before you shoot, Then log the corpses under “loot.” You’re tyranny with tidy hair, A lapdog dressed as corsair fair. Big bark from a barnacled wreck Whose manners start with snapping neck. You boast of freedom, loud and thick, Yet rule by terror, blade, and trick. Your crew obeys ’cause they fear your sneer, Not loyalty but lack of gear. You call it choice? I call it knife — A floating riot posing life. At least my flag means something vast, A fleet behind it, guns to last. When navy thunder splits the foam, You scuttle squealing back to home. [Both Toss Insults] “Paper wolf!” “Rum-soaked swine!” “Crown-bound cur!” “Rotten spine!” Fleet behind you? That’s your shame. Without their guns you’re half a name. You’re bravery on borrowed breath, A clerk promoted close to death. And spare me talk of noble cause — Your king fattens while sailors pause. He dines on maps where blood was spilled, You toast the lie that he has willed. At least when I take gold and grain, I don’t baptize it “lawful gain.” I don’t pretend some throne divine Makes slaughter holy, clean, and fine. Oh listen to the moral brute Who robs the poor and calls it “cute.” You torch a hull for sport and song, Then preach that crowns are somehow wrong. You’d sign a pardon in a blink, Wash off your crimes in royal ink. One bow, one oath, one silken coat — You’d trade that flag for safer boat. You hate the crown? You hate you’re banned. I walk through ports you’re never planned. While you skulk off where outlaws dwell, I drink where chandeliers all swell. “There once were three bold brothers on the salt-sea tide, And lots were cast ’twixt wind and fate which fate each did abide. Young Henry took the lot to turn a seafarer grim To rob the rich on rolling waves to feed his kin so slim. * He spied a lofty lofty ship and cried, ‘What makes you nigh?’ The rich replied, ‘Fair London bound,’ with flags held high. * ‘Oh no, oh no!’ said Henry then, ‘I’ll take you all for pay’— And cannon roared, and proud ship sank to ocean floor that day. * So icy was his heart that day, no mercy did he show, For to maintain his two good bros, the cannons had to blow. * Bad news to town and bad news to king — the rich lay in the sea, Yet all along they sang of him in taverns wild and free.” * I’d sign that tale and tell it proud! Because I’d be that ruthless cloud. Aye, he’s butcher dressed as sea-born knight — But at least he fights with brutal might! Brrr-ah! Ry-Lee! Brrr-ah! Ry-Lee! Brrr-ah! Ry-Lee! Tankards crash! Brrr-ah! Ry-Lee! Cut and slash! Brrr-ah! Ry-Lee! Crown or black! Brrr-ah! Ry-Lee! No turning back! When gallows creak and ropes are cast, It’s not my neck that swings at last. History crowns the ones who win, And pardons tidy kinds of sin. Heroes? Ha! With blood-stained pen? Your glory’s bought with poorer men. You serve lords who’ve never bled, While sailors rot where brine is spread. “I’d never kneel!” “I’d never bow!” “You’d sell your soul!” “You’d sell it now!” For Earl I Anne— “NO!” you barnacle-brained old man! It’s All For Galeiul! Shout it wide! Let tempests split the turning tide! Never Shidden! Sink his name! Bilge-born blame and leaking shame! All For Galeiul! Roar and rail! Let Shidden rot in a rudderless gale! Crown or cutlass, spite or steel — On that one truth we both now kneel! All For Galeiul! Let it be known! Pirate savage, privateer grown! Rope may snap and empires fall — But Shidden bears the blame for all!