March 22, 2012










The Muck Tree

Prizes for the captain
And patches for the sail
Keep them pennies coming
This jug’s too big to fail

We’re sailing for a new world
Where the golden muck tree grows
And silver ladies dance all night
In a moonlight puppet show

Now we’ve been taking water
Since we left from the port
We try to save our bread
But we always come up short

Now when we beach this hell-ship
First thing that I will do
Cut down that old muck tree
And sail it home to you

Now some folks pray to Jesus
Some folks don’t pray at all
Most folks bend to Mammon
When they hear the fiddler’s call

Dancing ‘round the fire
In this exotic bay
The wine is flowing freely
And the women start to sway

Yonder comes the captain
From somewhere in the pines
Carrying a carving spear
Cut from some sweet vine

I start getting nervous
And climb this evergreen
Those silver ladies are getting drunk
And starting to look mean

I gather up my courage
And steal into the grove
I chop down that old muck tree
And drag it to the cove

I can hear the ladies shrieking
I can hear the captain cry:
“To the shore my daughters!
The thief shall surely die!”

My hands are quick and nimble
My soul I must save
I hoist up all the rigging
And I catch the first big wave

I dance across the water
I dance across the sea
And the captain and his daughters
They can’t catch me

© Christopher McNeely, 2012


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