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It was just to the west of Rangoon –
We had been in the country since June.
I was leading my press-ganged platoon;
Each a pirate – a paid picaroon,
(Was no place for a pasty poltroon.)
When we spotted a rabid baboon,
By a large lily-padded lagoon.
(On it floated a flimsy pontoon.)
He was wearing, this burly buffoon,
The uniform of a Dragoon.
(If my memory’s correct it was noon;
Overhead shone a silvery moon.)
We observed as this lone loopy loon,
On a battered and buckled bassoon,
(Not perturbed by a howling monsoon –
Or more accurately, a typhoon.)
Played quite skillfully, a marching tune,
So I threw him a shiny doubloon,
And we listened till late afternoon,
Then we bid our farewells to the goon.