And when I stumble writing verse,
And rhythm and rhyme become a bore,
I’ll sing of salty sailors, that’s my curse,
And squeeze the frets ’til every finger’s sore!

In spite of all the things I do on land.
No matter how problems fall on me.
Sailors, keep a boat on hand.
And a ready glass of vodka just for me!

Any beast can swim out through the blue
But not all dive down beneath the screw.
Yet here on land the walkers hustle you -
They kick and shove and then they run from you.

In spite of all the things I do on land.
No matter how problems fall on me.
Sailors, let me sail out as your hand!
I’ll stand on all the watches out at sea!

The worlds not delayed by three whales’ labours
But three can very often make a crowd.
You can’t bend the rules in foreign harbours
But I forgot that in ours it is allowed.

In spite of all the things I do on land
No matter how problems fall on me.
Sailors, keep a boat on hand,
And a brimming cup of dark rum just for me!