Travel world with the wind in my sheets,
sailing some of seven seas.
I just ain’t into the ocean-cruiser scene. . .
effervescent zephyrs make me feel clean,

my style.

Raisin’ sails to “drive” by spar,
can’t wait to leave the shore.
Raisin’ sails to “drive” by spar.
To cruisers it’s: “Screw you!”

The rolling waves make me feel pretty good—
aqueous heave-ho neighborhood.
Forget the choler and lose track of time;
furthermore, good for my health is this clime.

Raisin’ sails to “drive” by spar,
carryin’ no harpoon barbs.
Raisin’ sails to “drive” by spar;
just me makes up this crew.

Raisin’ sails. . .no jiving barbs;
eat fresh fish mainly: no carbs.
Raisin’ sails. . .no jiving barbs
from colleagues I eschew.

The rolling waves make the sailboat softly sway;
a salty dog is what I’m becoming more every day.
I have a bar for when the night time starts,
but I have given up on those sugared tartes.

Fish dart; no marts!

I’m survivin’ ’neath the spar;
I plan to sail pretty far.
I’m survivin’ ’neath the spar;
the sea is deep green-blue.

Fish stocked. Hot damn!
Strike, line strike. . .gaffed.

Coho and cod. Salt ’em down for future stores.

Tub life.