(chorus:)
Flask, alas! He was a butterless man
At Captain Ahab's table he knew not where to stand
After Starbuck and Stubb had both buttered up their grub
Still Flask, he was a butterless man
Now, he could walk the quarterdeck as free as any soul
With one eye out for Moby Dick and one eye on his dinner roll
But he dared not touch that sweet butterfat
For fear of Ahab's stick accross his back
He was short and stout and tough as they come
He could fire his harpoon like a sharpshooter's gun
But he was fourth man low on that Pequod's totem pole
And he could not even butter up his roll
(chorus)
He was the last one down and the first one to leave
And lucky if he had any time between to eat
With no gravy for his beef, no butter for his bread
He was lucky if he ever got fed
He could not cut his meat, he could not dish he peas
While the officer and first mate did all as they pleased
But he was fourth man low on the Pequod's totem pole
And he could not even butter up his roll
(chorus)
So raise your cups to Flask!
And put some extra butter on your bread!
'Cause you may one day find you're crazy on a ship of fools
Chasin' whales without no butter for your roll |
