Old Ed stood high on the tops'l yahd
A-staring into the sun.
To see the way he stared, we feared
Some damage might be done.
And sure enough, when his watch was done,
An' he shinnied down the stay,
He started spouting Marxist thoughts
In a tatterdemalion way.

Now Little Hawk, on the foc's'le head,
Was watching in the gloom
As the phosphorescent breakers passed,
An' he dreamed he was in his room.
He fancied seeing shabby types
Of simian and Canuck.
He dreamed them up and gave them names,
And his fancies kinda stuck.
For when old Hawk came off that watch
He swore his chums were there!
So we tied him up and stowed him below,
Just to give him a change of air.

And sure, it was a patchwork gang
We'd sailed with from the docks,
With prim Rapaire, and wild-eyed Bruce,
And Still and Jane in frocks.
But we didn't care if we all seemed odd,
We were glad to be under weigh.
For we heard the call of the Mother's voice
Singing "Thirty-three of Kay!"