Got stranded in a shallow slough;
canvas was unfurled, then what ensued?
Water level was goin’ down;
its color was a muddy brown.

Heave-ho….

The guys should have known it when they made the mark:
twain and dropping; I guess they weren’t too smart.
I watched these seamen, standing on the poop.
I feared we would have a runaground sloop.

The keel then kissed the muddy slough’s substrate;
I knew just then what was gonna be our fate:
We could be held by that soft earthen goop.
I’d say this will be a runaground sloop.

No…!

Yeah, we liked to travel around,
from one port town to next port town.
The steeples from churches would rise
in towns of small and large size.

From the portside to the starboard, everywhere we’d go,
this was a crew that I thought would know
how to steer and tie nautical loops…
in deep mud’s the runaground sloop.

Now the keel’s in terra firm’,
and we are a sad group.
Deep dug in’s the sloop.

Yeah, we liked to travel around,
hauling all the sails up and down.
These seamen turned out not too wise…
hope we get out with tide rise.

This mud mooring is so boring, got no place to go.
I’m really bummed, and I tell ’em so.
Chastise these fools, and their spirits droop.
We’ll drink all day on this runaground sloop.

When will canvas unfurl
to take us to the next town?