| A capital ship for an ocean trip
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| Was the Walloping Window Blind.
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| No gale that blew dismayed her crew
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| Or troubled the captain’s mind.
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| The man at the wheel was taught to feel
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| Contempt for the wildest blow.
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| And it often appeared when the weather had cleared
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| That he’d been in his bunk below.
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| The boatswain’s mate was very sedate,
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| Yet fond of amusement too;
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| And he played hopscotch with the starboard watch
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| While the captain tickled the crew.
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| And the gunner we had was apparently mad
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| For he stood on the cannon’s tail,
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| And fired salutes in the captain’s boots
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| In the teeth of a booming gale.
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| The captain sat in a commodore’s hat
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| And dined in a royal way
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| On toasted pigs and pickles and figs
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| And gummery bread each day.
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| But the rest of us ate from an odious plate
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| For the food that was given the crew
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| Was a number of tons of hot cross buns
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| Chopped up with sugar and glue.
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| We all felt ill as mariners will
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| On a diet that’s cheap and rude,
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| And the poop deck shook when we dipped the cook
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| In a tub of his gluesome food.
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| Then nautical pride we laid aside,
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| And we cast the vessel ashore
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| On the Gulliby Isles, where the Poohpooh smiles
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| And the Anagzanders roar.
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| Composed of sand was that favored land
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| And trimmed in cinnamon straws;
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| And pink and blue was the pleasing hue
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| Of the Tickletoeteasers claws.
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| We climbed to the edge of a sandy ledge
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| And soared with the whistling bee,
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| And we only stopped at four o’clock
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| For a pot of cinnamon tea.
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| From dawn to dark, on rubagub bark
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| We fed, till we all had grown
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| Uncommonly thin. |
| Then a boat blew in
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| On a wind from the torriby zone.
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| She was stubby and square, but we didn’t much care,
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| And we cheerily put to sea.
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| We plotted a course for the Land of Blue Horse,
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| Due west 'cross the Peppermint Sea. |