I'm writing from Atlanta in shock,
my spaceship's just out of its dock,
but a fellow named Jim
whose light is not dim
has just christened it 'Four O'Clock'.
I knew I was just on the brink
of transilience; yet without pause to think
what we all wanted aired
that now it was time for a drink.
All you people who voyage in space
know matters have their proper place;
before the first call
up in Montreal
the order is 'splice the mainbrace'.
I got the contract -- lowest bid --
but one simple fact I had hid.
Though we were all staunch
about the great launch,
the one who got drunk was the squid.