Now nineteen nine and seventy, boys,
There's only thirty more,
Until our Mom can drop her hook,
On that blesse sandy shore.
And then we'll all be given leave
To swim ashore and play
With loverly dusky maidens there
Who yearn to fill our days.
And then we'll all drink MaiTais, too,
Sweet as Tahitian morn,
And when we get past Twenty Kay,
A new day will be born.
We'll paddle 'bout and eat our chow
From palm leaves in the sun,
And never have a care or woe
'Til twenty-k and one.

Jefferson Davis Schults
Musings from a Melting Pot
Anchorage Press, Juneau-Erdoncha, 1994