The cruiser’s fate was drift about;
power and water ran out.
People walk the deck and moon;
tugs don’t get ’em home too soon.

Lotsa dumps are hangin’ out
of the bowls, drop on the grout.
Passengers crap off the aft;
boat afloat with turds—a raft.
Gross is the cloacal craft.
Hope, more, found in a life raft.

This hasn’t been a good trip,
drifting on the poo ship.
For all these people, worse than being bored—
can’t plop waste in o’erflow throne.

Ship of stools, ship of stools!

[shatty shanty interloode]

The cruiser’s fate a shipty rout.
Odor streams into the snout—
people flock to deck and swoon.
Drugs like Imodium, a boon!

Ship of stools. . . .

Shite on board—
ship’s got reeking rooms
soiled from behinds. . .
don’t wanna climb on board!!!!