Would you leave a stain untended? Would you mask it with false pride? Or would you do as God intended, And scrape that blemish from your hide? Would you follow every motion With sixty minutes worth of blame, Or would you calmly take the lotion And do your best to purge your shame? Would you laugh while others weep, Their hammocks balmed from bow to stern, Then, unmoved, go back to sleep Forgetting that, once, it was your turn? Would you take the coward's way out And hide them in another man's chest, Then point your finger, as you hear him shout: I swear it wasn't me who messed! But if you bear the bosun's whip, And pay the price for what you've done, Then stand with pride upon my ship, And here are the wipes, my son.