"The Pirates of Kelsey" genre: Vocals
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	A tale of scurvey pirate lore, depicting the formation of five hearty lads sharing a house (the Kelsey House) on GFU campus. Avast!
	CD: none   Label: none Credits: Lyrics: R. Chambers. Music: the Boys
	Story Behind the Song The song started out as a song by (as far as we know) the U of O group On The Rocks. We decided we didn't like the words, and didn't terribly like the music, either, but it served as an inspiration to this song. We are five guys who live in the Kelsey House at George Fox University. We initially sang the song to each other to try and crack each other up, and then I (Ryan, who can't sing quite as well as the others but have a well practiced pirate impression... see http://www.mp3.com/the_squirrel_pirates) wrote the monologue in the middle. Actually, I wrote the whole thing. I wrote a good portion of it in the shower. It was recorded at Cool Rain Studio in Newberg OR, as part of my Audio Production class. What that basically means is we got the use of the studio for free, and I got credit for doing something that thoroughly cracks me up. Technical note: The track was recorded and mixed on a Mac G4, using Pro Tools. Lyrics Yo ho ho... Come swab the poopdeck We'll hoist the sails and set sea Cause the treasure's across the sea, X marks the spot For you and me On my ship, we'll cross the ocean Will you come plunder with me? We'll find a chest of gold and silver The Pirates of Kelsey Avast, me matey Go get your swarthy maids Cause the parrot sometimes likes to pee On me, Somehow, I must be cleaned (chorus) Avast, ye scurvy swabs and swarthy maids! Ye've been broadsided by the Kelsey Pirates: Prepare to be boarded! Now, before we get to swashbuckling, I'll make some introductions. This be Spice Boi, from the steamy underbelly of the lost orient. Over here is Joel the Red, about whom there is nothing red. This be Gimpalong Davey, who does not have a pegleg, but once pulled a hamstring. I am Iron Ryan, and I subsist on a diet of six cold english muffins skewered on a pointed stick. And this be our skipper: Captain McStillinger. Now, me mateys, ye have but two choices. Either ye'll give us all your booty, we'll scuttle your ship, and we'll leave ye for dead on a desert isle. Or, ye'll all walk the plank. Boys, ready your rusty cutlasses! Hoist the jolly roger! We're sending these lads and lasses to the briny deep! (Chorus)

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