The Double-Bottom Bead

(Full group vocals - Shouted and powerful)

Burn the rod and stack the plate!

The tide is high and the ship won't wait!

Fifty feet of bead by the end of the line

If the weld don't hold, then it's your behind!

Heave away, boys, fill the slot

Keep the metal moving while the iron is hot!

(Clapping drops to a low, steady thud—vocal is isolated and gritty)

Foreman’s on the catwalk with a clipboard and a scowl

He’s looking for a reason just to throw in the towel.

I’m hunched in the double-bottom, breathing in the scale

With a 6010 electrode and a rusty water pail.

The rigger’s got the crane-hook swinging past my ear

If the sling-cable snaps, I’m a goner out of here.

(Clapping and metallic stomping kick back in)

Burn the rod and stack the plate!

The tide is high and the ship won't wait!

Fifty feet of bead by the end of the line

If the weld don't hold, then it's your behind!

Heave away, boys, fill the slot

Keep the metal moving while the iron is hot!

(Music drops out - isolated vocals)

The hull-inspector’s coming with his chalk and his light

Marking every pinhole that I didn't fuse right.

The chipping-hammer’s ringing like a fever in my skull

Trying to find the rhythm in the belly of the hull.

My gloves are burnt to leather-scraps, my boots are full of grit

But the quota says I’m thirty inches short of where I quit.

(Maximum volume - group shouting and heavy clapping)

Burn the rod and stack the plate!

The tide is high and the ship won't wait!

Fifty feet of bead by the end of the line

If the weld don't hold, then it's your behind!

Heave away, boys, fill the slot

Keep the metal moving while the iron is hot!

(Solo metallic percussion—sounds like hammers hitting different pitches of steel)

(Rhythmic chanting: “Bead-by-bead, seam-by-seam... Bead-by-bead, seam-by-seam...”)

(Isolated, tired vocal)

The launch-ways are greased and the props are in place

The yard-owner’s smiling with a sweat-free face.

He’ll break a bottle on the bow when she slides out to the bay

And forget the men who burned their lungs to make the launch today.

Switch off the machine. Drag the lead across the floor.

I hit the damn quota. Now I’m heading for the door.

(Final explosive chorus)

Burn the rod and stack the plate!

The tide is high and the ship won't wait!

Fifty feet of bead by the end of the line

If the weld don't hold, then it's your behind!

Heave away, boys, fill the slot

Keep the metal moving while the iron is hot!

(Clapping slows down... Clap... Clap...)

(The sound of a heavy industrial buzzer)

(Single deep hammer-strike on steel)