Turn the boat around—
I hear the wind rushin’.
Might turn upside down
And water might rush in,
And I fear it.

Those foghorns sure sound pretty
They mean you’re near shore—
And terra firma that’s gritty.
We came here to catch some fish, gar snatchin’,
Although fishin’ is a bitch in big wind action.
So. . .

Turn the boat around—
I fear the wind rushin’.
Might turn upside down
And water might gush in—
I can hear it.

Fools playing foolishly in
The impending wind; I’m getting pisc’d off.
On the sea, I’ve made my mind up about it:
I’m going to seize the tiller—no doubt about it.
Because the wind’s hard, making mako-ing
A bitch that is significant. Close the hatch? Latch? Natch!!
Tiller tilts this ship that’s shoddy—port, port, PORT!
Wish there was some left, sweet—not too sweet!
Inhale it neat with no drink-abated swiggin’.
But drat! rats! that’s latter matter: gettin’ drunk, yeah!

Turned the boat around;
Far from here I’m rushin’.
But—turned upside down;
In here water’s gushin’.

Turned, the boat went down—
There’s clear water rushin’
Lungward. . .bloated, drowned.
Down here, won’t be lushin’.