Dave The Sailor

In a little green boat on the crest of a wave
Sat a man in a coat who's first name was Dave.
Dave was a sailor, a man of the sea,
He had a loud hailer and flasks full of tea.
He sat there for years as the boat drifted on,
Full of the fear that land had all gone.
He'd seen nought but sea for a decade or more
So thought it must be that the land was no more.
But Dave didn't know that his long anchor chain
Was caught far below on an old weather-vane,
The boat hadn't moved since ten years before,
When Abba still grooved and Bill Gates was still poor.
And Dave sits there still right up to this day
Wishing the hills had not gone away,
And wishing his boat may yet get to a shore,
Where he'll buy a new coat and he'll visit a whore,
Until then he'll sit on the crest of his wave
Thick as pig shit, a sailor, called Dave.