Echoes of a Pirate Song: A Punk, a Pirate, and a Pentecostal Mom

Lauren Nixon-Matney • June 15, 2025
Echoes of a Pirate Song: A Punk, a Pirate, and a Pentecostal Mom

Relient K: The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything

Film: Jonah A VeggieTales Movie

Audio Book Style

Dear Kids,


Before you ever shouted, “We are the pirates who don’t do anything!” at the top of your lungs, I did too.


Sort of.


Not in the way you do now—barefoot, spinning in circles, your little voices echoing through the house, collapsing in giggles before pressing “play” again. No, when I first heard this song, I was sixteen, sitting in the back of my Pentecostal boyfriend’s mom’s car, trying to pretend I was too cool to care.


To be clear, I was not a pirate. And I was definitely not doing nothing.

I was a punk kid dating a Pentecostal boy with a very strict mother, sitting next to him and one of his two younger brothers, being ferried to school, church, restaurants, anywhere and everywhere by his mom. And every single time it seemed we got into that car, a cd that included this song was playing.


Not always the original VeggieTales version—no, sometimes it was the Relient K cover from the Jonah movie soundtrack. And somehow, that little detail made all the difference.


Relient K was one of those bands that existed in the strange Venn diagram of Christian music and pop-punk. They had just enough of a Warped Tour sound to feel rebellious—but also enough Jesus in their lyrics that Pentecostal moms let their kids blast them at full volume. And so, every morning, there I was—awkward teenage me, clad in band tees and too much eyeliner, squeezed between my boyfriend and his little brother bouncing in their seats as we sailed full-speed into yet another day of high school with “We Don’t Do Anything” as our soundtrack.


I never admitted it then, but… I kind of loved it.

Even if I acted like I was rolling my eyes, I knew every word.

I knew the harmonies.

I knew the way his little brothers shouted the lyrics with absolute joy, like it was the greatest thing they’d ever heard.

And I knew—though maybe I never said it—that his mom was a bright light in my world.


She didn’t have to drive me.

She didn’t have to make space for me in her life.

She didn’t have to take me to Church every week.

She didn’t have to let her son date some weird little punk girl from a family with a bad reputation.


But she did.


And somehow, this ridiculous pirate song became a soundtrack to it all.


Now.


The TV screen flickers. A familiar jingle starts playing.


From across the house, I hear the stampede of little feet.


Then, in perfect harmony—like a VeggieTales gospel choir led by very enthusiastic small humans—I hear it:


“We are the pirates who don’t do anything!”


You know every word.

Every. Single. Word.

And so do I.


I should’ve seen this coming.

I should’ve been mentally prepared for this moment.


Because I’ve been here before.


Not on this couch.

Not in this living room.

Not as a mom, watching my kids lose their minds over a song about doing nothing.


But in a different time, in a different place, hearing this song for the first time in the backseat of a car, sitting next to kids who sang it just like you do now.


I know these lyrics because they never really left.

Because music, even the silliest kind, has a way of sticking to you.

And now, here we are.


All these years later, I’m watching you belt out the same ridiculous song I once heard in that car—only this time, I’m not pretending to be too cool for it.


This time, I sing along.


Because maybe that’s the real magic of songs like this.

Maybe it’s not about the lyrics or the melody, but the way they carry you through time.


Maybe it’s about the places they take you back to.

And the people who were kind to you when they didn’t have to be.

And the way music has a funny way of finding you again, just when you least expect it.


Once, I sat in the backseat, listening to boys shout this song at the top of their lungs. Now, I’m in the front seat, watching my own kids do the same thing. Life has a funny way of circling back. Maybe we really are just pirates, floating along, letting the music take us where we’re meant to go.


Jaxon: “Mom, we should be real pirates and not do anything forever.”

Me: “So… like, bedtime?”

Maggie Jo: “NO, MOM, PIRATES DON’T SLEEP!”

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