A yankee sailor used to tell me this poem, but I only remember snippets...
I was born on the crest of a wave,
And rocked to sleep in the cradle of the deep.
My mother was a mermaid, and my father was old king Neptune.
.
[some other lines here...] .
.
When I spits, I spits tar,
I'm tough, I am, I are.

Although looking at it now, it seems a bit trite,
when he would recite this with mock seriousness and true grandeur, it was first rate.

Mark