Of all the dangers lurking,
On the NSW North Coast,
It’s the fearful plywood pirates,
That are talked about the most.
Ray 1’s our senior pirate,
Always there to lead the band,
As they explore, invade and conquer,
All the waters in the land.
Ray 2’s got the latest Cormorant,
His deck job is a ripper,
He likes to boast to all his friends,
He’s been working on a stripper.
There’s Ray 3 and Jenny, a happy pair,
Away paddling in their double,
Always traveling here and there,
It keeps them out of trouble.
And Elaine’s morning smokos,
Are known throughout the land.
It’s the fuel that turns the rusty wheels,
Of the plywood pirate band.
Bill’s a different kind of pirate,
He’s a model making man.
He makes more cups for morning tea,
Than the fingers on both hands.
And Robert, senior shipwright,
His advice will never fail.
Though he doesn’t paddle much nowadays,
He prefers to use his sail.
Freddo’s the clearance diver,
Always keen to clinch a deal.
We think that he was born a cross,
Between Labrador and Seal.
Peter D’s the fastest paddler,
In his bright blue plastic boat.
He always seems to lead the charge,
When the pirates are afloat.
Desperate Doug the chalky,
Always there to make us laugh.
His boat turned out a wee bit short,
Last time he tried a scarph.
Terry’s our choir master,
Always ready with a song.
But never try to lift his boat,
Unless you’re really, really strong.
And Ken, the quiet achiever,
Never seems to want a hand.
When he working on his boat,
We watch him sand, and sand, and sand.
And Geoff’s the electronics wiz,
His ideas could mend a wreck.
He got to try his theory out,
When he sat down on his deck.
Now Cookies on a mission,
With the latest strips of wood.
Though he always mumbles in his beard,
We know it’ll turn out good.
And Stan’s the quiet builder,
Likes to take his time.
And when the sun comes out, his deck,
Will shine, and shine, and shine.
And Clem nods in agreement,
Doesn’t worry with the sound.
And paddles like a maniac,
When the pirates are around.
Pat’s the silent achiever,
Though he’s sometimes hard to find.
He’s either miles away in front,
Or out of sight behind.
And Beth our lady pirate,
In her great big plastic crate.
Has to bring her river pilot,
That’s him, he’s there, it’s Jake.
And the Floppies, always fishing,
No one else has got the need.
To feed the band of pirates,
Though we never get a feed.
To all the other pirates,
Whose names I can’t recall.
Through all the noise and sawdust,
I’m sure you had a ball.
And last of course it’s me,
I make peoples plywood dreams.
In any shape, or size, or style,
But only CLC 16’s.
So raise your glass, and drink,
A plywood pirate toast.
To the scourge of all the waters,
On the NSW North Coast.