Brett-

She took me aloft and her tops'ls she lowered,
In a snug little harbor she soon had me moored;
She laid in her fores'ls, her stays'ls, and all,
With her lily white hand on me reef-tackle fall...

Here's luck to the gal with the black curly locks,
Here's luck to the gal who run Jack on the rocks;
Here's luck to the doctor who eased all his pain,
He's squared his main yards, he's a-cruisin' again...

Cheerily,
Charley Noble