These are real lyrics, straight from Aes Rock himself:
dead men tell no tales, up push the daisies ʻtil the soil is stale, in the powder blue
tux for the farmer sale, mr. big sleep with the carp and kale.
once upon a time in the days of yore, when the people lived fresh out of legend
and folklore, there was an old pirate who pilot a vile slang, had a bird perched on
him that swashbuckle the same. peg leg navigate him starboard to port, by the
nautical starry night yelling “the harbor is yours”, and you should tell him where
you situate the gold, that is unless youʼd like a vacation with davy j-j-j-jones, like
walk, plank for whom the shark thank, maroon the mutineers, consume the souvenirs,
and while the shiny spoils piled higher every year he was suffocating slow in
the box of a buccaneer, 10 summers prior on a night like this, crowʼs nest scope
something afloat to the boatʼs west, swore it blew him a kiss, when he focused
seen the face of an angel upon the body of a f-f-f-fish, what the heck, frazzled,
his telescope shattered, gathered himself, she was ghost, he was down the rope
ladder to deck , circle the vessel to 360 swiftly, found nothing in the water but
salt, piss, and whiskey, yar, heckled by the swabbies at the bar, heʼll be the laughing
stock of the barbary coast war like “this dude either got 2 glass eyes, or heʼs
wearing his patch on the wrong s-s-s-side”, now he knew what he saw, but had to
prove he was raw, so he raped, and he pillaged, and he feud and he brawl, tried to
re-kindle his rep via sabers and gun-smoke, and vowed to always find her, though
he never told his cut throats, meanwhile back in the now, got a brand new skeleton
crew on the move out, when they arenʼt manning 30 burning cannons stern to
bow, they are prying shiny metals out your m-m-m-mouth, ok, youth weans, oldage
holler wisdom and disease like the scurvy made his yellow gums bleed, and
he was achy from the boots to the feather in his hat ʻtil his quarter-master showed
up with a stolen treasure map. one look down and leapt off the dock, see if you
can guess where X marked the spot, the capital was buried at sea in a cursed cave
only one mile from where heʼd seen the mer-mer-mer-maid, anchors up, hoist
the jolly roger, thank you much, day and night with his hook hands raised and
clutched, but see the vitamin deficiency was strong, so by the time they bumped
into the island he could barely lift his grog, crawled off the boat, collapsed in the
sand, prayers in the air sea shells in his hand, and nary a high tide so grand as the
one that put the lady of the lake on dry l-l-l-land, and i wish i could tell you that it
ended happy, pretend like his bones werenʼt practically snapping, pretend like her
gills didnʼt dry up and suffer, but thatʼs a half-dead pirate and a fish out of water,
no lie, scoutʼs honor, got a million more, from the burgundy lighting above the
shores of whores, before your visions of grandeur go to swell those sails, remember
dead men tell no t-t-t-tales.
These are real lyrics, straight from Aes Rock himself:
dead men tell no tales, up push the daisies ʻtil the soil is stale, in the powder blue tux for the farmer sale, mr. big sleep with the carp and kale.
once upon a time in the days of yore, when the people lived fresh out of legend and folklore, there was an old pirate who pilot a vile slang, had a bird perched on him that swashbuckle the same. peg leg navigate him starboard to port, by the nautical starry night yelling “the harbor is yours”, and you should tell him where you situate the gold, that is unless youʼd like a vacation with davy j-j-j-jones, like walk, plank for whom the shark thank, maroon the mutineers, consume the souvenirs, and while the shiny spoils piled higher every year he was suffocating slow in the box of a buccaneer, 10 summers prior on a night like this, crowʼs nest scope something afloat to the boatʼs west, swore it blew him a kiss, when he focused seen the face of an angel upon the body of a f-f-f-fish, what the heck, frazzled, his telescope shattered, gathered himself, she was ghost, he was down the rope ladder to deck , circle the vessel to 360 swiftly, found nothing in the water but salt, piss, and whiskey, yar, heckled by the swabbies at the bar, heʼll be the laughing stock of the barbary coast war like “this dude either got 2 glass eyes, or heʼs wearing his patch on the wrong s-s-s-side”, now he knew what he saw, but had to prove he was raw, so he raped, and he pillaged, and he feud and he brawl, tried to re-kindle his rep via sabers and gun-smoke, and vowed to always find her, though he never told his cut throats, meanwhile back in the now, got a brand new skeleton crew on the move out, when they arenʼt manning 30 burning cannons stern to bow, they are prying shiny metals out your m-m-m-mouth, ok, youth weans, oldage holler wisdom and disease like the scurvy made his yellow gums bleed, and he was achy from the boots to the feather in his hat Ê»til his quarter-master showed up with a stolen treasure map. one look down and leapt off the dock, see if you can guess where X marked the spot, the capital was buried at sea in a cursed cave only one mile from where heʼd seen the mer-mer-mer-maid, anchors up, hoist the jolly roger, thank you much, day and night with his hook hands raised and clutched, but see the vitamin deficiency was strong, so by the time they bumped into the island he could barely lift his grog, crawled off the boat, collapsed in the sand, prayers in the air sea shells in his hand, and nary a high tide so grand as the one that put the lady of the lake on dry l-l-l-land, and i wish i could tell you that it ended happy, pretend like his bones werenʼt practically snapping, pretend like her gills didnʼt dry up and suffer, but thatʼs a half-dead pirate and a fish out of water, no lie, scoutʼs honor, got a million more, from the burgundy lighting above the shores of whores, before your visions of grandeur go to swell those sails, remember dead men tell no t-t-t-tales.