Come gather, ye sailors, for a rowdy, salt-soaked night,

With My Druthers and The Dreadnoughts to lift your spirits bright!

My Druthers

Oh, My Druthers be a hearty New London crew,

With voices that ring like the wind blowing true.

They gather ’round the mast with a stomp and a cheer,

Singing tales of the coast and the cold frothing beer.

With harmonies bold and a spirit unbent,

They’ll lift ye up higher than canvas or tent.

So raise up the chorus and answer their call—

For My Druthers be sailors who give it their all!

The Dreadnoughts

Now The Dreadnoughts come roaring like storms from the west,

A rowdy lot known to put any deckhand to the test.

With fiddles aflame and accordions wild,

They summon the fury of Neptune’s own child.

Their punk-tossed shanties shake timbers and bone,

As the crew drinks and hollers in thunderous tone.

So grab ye a tankard and shout till ye’re hoarse—

For The Dreadnoughts sail forth like a runaway force!