'Twas drilling, and the slimy floes
Did mire the skimmers in the wave.
All seacoast birds looked more like crows;
Only foam baths might save.

We dare to jab bedrock (no fun)
With jaws that bite the crude oil patch.
Beware when trouble's stirred, and run
When plumes bust blowout latch.

We took from port our platform grand;
Long time the black-gold flow we sought.
So tested we 'neath the humdrum sea,
And would first mile find naught.

And as with GPS we stood,
We jabbed bedrock; then rising flame
Came whistling through the topside hood,
And hurdled as it came.

One-two! One-two! Eleven crew
This mortal trade would quickly sack.
It left them dead, the rest in dread
Of venting sea-floor crack.

And has it stained each crabber's dock?
Brought to the swarms of baitfish, joy?
Blown drab each bay! Bayous can slay!
All portals will destroy.

'Twas drilling, and the slimy floes
Did mire the skimmers in the wave.
All seacoast birds looked more like crows;
Only foam baths might save.