The Modern Mariner

A dry sheet and a lazy sea, And a wind so far from fast It barely floats the owner's flag That flutters at the mast-- That flutters at the mast, my boys; So while the sky is free Of cloud we'll take a yachtsman's chance And venture out to sea.

The aneroid has dropped a tenth! Back, back across the bar To a harbor snug, and a long cold drink, And a big fat black cigar-- A big fat black cigar, my boys; While, on an even keel, The Swedish chef out-chefs himself In getting up a meal.

Give me a soft and gentle wind, A fleckless azure sky; I care not for your "snoring breeze" And dinners heaving high-- And dinners heaving high, my boys, Make no great hit with me; So when the breeze begins to snore We'll not put out to sea.

There's laughter in yon beach hotel, And summer girls a crowd; And hark the music, mariners, The band is piping loud! The band is piping loud, my boys, Bright eyes are flashing free. Come, fly the owner's-absent flag And join the revelry.