It was the third of June;
We sailed out from the Delta to the Bay.
We'd let out lotsa cotton
Sails, which blossomed; we bailed away.
Post-dinner time we mopped up some slop
That had once been eats.
And the mate hollered out the porthole:
"Get those hawsers tied onto the cleats!"
And then he said: "I got some news
From the captain on the bridge.
He say, bilge below is buildin' up--
Pump it out till there's just a smidge!"

A swabbie said to the mate:
"Oh, feel free to lash me if you please.
The bilge below stinks, and it is rather dense
And amiships, geez!
Yeah, I'm sore, achin',
Just thinkin' about goin' down there now."
The mate said, "You have gotta tame
All the bilge below in this scow!
Now be a good lad or I'll go see
The captain on the bridge.
And howl, 'Bilge below is buildin' up,
'cause you lads haven't pumped a smidge!'"

He's bothered because they've elected
Not to go to the bilge below.
Pulls on grog, doughty crack: "Is this car'vel* Bounty?
Stick it, schmoe!"
But while they were talkin', they felt the ship lurch,
Though movement was slight.
Although there's peaceful seas,
The ship seemed to list right.
Meanwhile its cargo craw filled
With water, and on the bridge,
Yes, the cap sensèd bilge below
By now had transcended a smidge.

The mate is filled with mean bile;
He's laughin' at swabs' hapless plight.
He's like Cook 'n' Bligh combined,
And his empathy is less than slight.
The bight has breached 'er
Yet the sailors don't drips belay.
Despite the seas swirlin' in 'er--
It's rum day--thus the delay.
It's sad--these awful churls are sotted and stewed
And ain't pumped out a smidge.
Meanwhile the bilge below is flowing upward
To the tall cap. on the bridge.

Then fear had come upon all the crew
When they saw bilge below.
They're bothered that the feckless sot men
To the hold did not choose to go.
They're in a vile mood. . .goin' down;
Proper caulking not applied--leaks spring.
Dank scow's swabbies dunked in deep;
They're wan and blue 'cause they are freezing.
The seaborne men rescued in time,
Picked up. . .sour funk, cold as a fridge.
Boat dropped down into the chummy water,
Gone's cap., last man on the bridge.


*caravel: type of ship