(I decided the fandom needed a full version of this song. Be warned, it's gory. But that's the fun of it. Break out the seaweed grog and sing along!

Brian Jacques wrote the first two verses, the first two lines of verse three, the first line of verse four and the part used here as the refrain. The rest was written by me, but inspired very much by "Derelict", the long version of the famous "Fifteen men on a dead man's chest" song, available at Wikipedia.)


Slaughter of the Crew of the Rusty Chain

Whoa, the Captain of the Rusty Chain
Ain't feeling much surprise
He's deader'n a duck on the ocean floor
While the fish nibble out his eyes

Refrain
And the crew of the Rusty Chain
Ain't feeling too much pain
Oh you can't wipe your nose when your head's chopped off
And they'll never see their tails again!

Whoa, the bosun's got a spear in his liver
And the mate's got a spear through his throat
And they're using the fat off an old searat
To set alight to the boat

Refrain

Whoa, they carved off the lookout's ears
And stuffed 'em up his nose
And the deck's stained red with the blood of the dead
As it oozes, gushes or flows

Refrain

Whoa, they've gone and skinned the cook
With his own best carving knife
And they boiled his corpse in his own stewpot
Though he begged 'em to spare his life

Refrain

Whoa, they dragged the cabin-jack up the mast
And hanged him by his tail
And the helmsrat's head's fixed firm to the wheel
On a marlinspike impaled

Refrain

Whoa, the slaughter's done and the dead struck dumb
Staring blindly at the skies
Up to the place where the good dead go
Them bound contrariwise

Refrain

Whoa, they took the gold and torched the hold
Where they flee no beast can tell
And the Rusty Chain sinks through the main
Down to the gates of Hell!

Refrain


Note from Abbot Saxtus, compiler: This is the short version. The versions most commonly sung by searats are far more graphic and continue ad-lib until the final singer passes out drunk. I left out several verses out of respect to my readers' stomachs. If one finds oneself among searats and must join in this grisly ballad, one should sing as loudly and as off-key as possible while swinging a vessel of strong drink with enough force to slosh it over the heads of those nearby, according to Blaggut. Most of them will be too drunk to care, and those that do care will be too drunk to fight.


(Note from the author: Well, actually I just stopped because it was getting faintly disturbing and I was running out of rhymes. But man, that did help me vent stress. I should write gore more often, though possibly not necessarily share it on the internet often.)