The Dandified Manatee

Oh, the Manatee, the Manatee,-- What does he do when the winds blow free? He seeks some spot where the water’s low, And curls his hair while the breezes blow; And never a thought has he in his head, Except that he knows when to go to his bed-- The Manatee, the Manatee.

Oh, the Manatee, the Manatee,-- What does he do when the tide runs free? With a coral shoe-brush under his thumb, He glazes his fins with aluminum. What matter to him the ocean’s flow. He’s not in a mercantile line you know-- The Manatee, the Manatee.

Oh, the Manatee, the Manatee, What does he do when the birds fly free? As they rise and dip and lazily flop, He watches intently, in hopes they may drop A band of feathers to circle his throat, Or some down for the edge of his redingote-- The Manatee, the Manatee.

Oh, the Manatee, the Manatee, What does he do when the ships sail free? Oh, far away where the wave’s at rest, He searches for pearls to jewel his breast. There’s nothing new in the rig of a ship, And for sailor fashions he cares not a flip. The Manatee, the Manatee.

Oh, the Manatee, the Manatee, A very Beau Brummell of dandies he! His fins are polished, his hair is curled, His dainty umbrella is properly furled! There’s never a porpoise he meets on the sea But plaintively murmurs, “I would I could be The bride of that exquisite Manatee!”