Caritas, Monday

[shagthis.livejournal.com]

There were butterflies flitting around Caritas tonight

Just when Jake thought he'd gotten used to the kinds of weird crap that liked to come in delivery boxes aside from the actual, you know, bar supplies, they had to go and outdo themselves.

He'd opened up a box and out flew several dozen brightly-coloured butterflies.

"How is this even my life," he groaned to Tino.

Comments

Stage!

[shagthis.livejournal.com]

Haul, haul up the main,
Our schooner's off, she sails again,
From Newfoundland, bound Americay.
Heave, heave, heave, me boys,
We're sailing o'er the Yankee tide;
We're running rum the prohibition way.

When the Americays were dry,
By the laws of old excise;
A Yank could find his drink by way of sea.
And our schooner often ran,
From the banks of Newfoundland;
To quench the thirst,
The Yankee buyer's plea.

Bar!

[shagthis.livejournal.com]

So haul, haul up the main,
Our schooner's off, she sails again,
From Newfoundland, bound Americay.
Heave, heave, heave, me boys,
We're sailing o'er the Yankee tide;
We're running rum the prohibition way,
We're running rum the prohibition way.

Weighed down our hold,
Prohibition's liquid gold;
To rendezvous off the coast of Maine.
The midnight splash of oars,
The Yankee buyers now on board;
The deal is done,
We're headed off again.

Lounge!

[shagthis.livejournal.com]

So haul, haul up the main,
Our schooner's off, she sails again,
From Newfoundland, bound Americay.
Heave, heave, heave, me boys,
We're sailing o'er the Yankee tide;
We're running rum the prohibition way,
We're running rum the prohibition way.

We're on to Boston Harbour,
To pull another feat;
And I pray to God,
No excise men we meet.
I'd rather be drawn and hanged,
Than to lose me schooner grand,
Never more to sail the open sea.

Back Room!

[shagthis.livejournal.com]

So haul, haul up the main,
Our schooner's off, she sails again,
From Newfoundland, bound Americay.
Heave, heave, heave, me boys,
We're sailing o'er the Yankee tide;
We're running rum the prohibition way,
We're running rum the prohibition way.

Now the Boston deal is done,
The Yankee buyer's got his rum;
Our pockets lined,
For Newfoundland we sail.
We're loaded for and aft,
Enough provisions for to last;
The winter, boys, again we have prevailed.

OOC!

[shagthis.livejournal.com]

So haul, haul up the main,
Our schooner's off, she sails again,
From Newfoundland, bound Americay.
Heave, heave, heave, me boys,
We're sailing o'er the Yankee tide;
We're running rum the prohibition way.

So, haul, haul up the main,
Our schooner's off, she sails again,
From Newfoundland, bound Americay.
Heave, heave, heave, me boys,
We're sailing o'er the Yankee tide;
We're running rum the prohibition way,
We're running rum the prohibition way.