Till I thot he’d bust in ’is chair.
Then the Scientific he cleans up,
An’ the yarns begin to spin,
An’ we puffs our pipe an’ sips our grog
Till it’s time fer to turn in.
An’ so we goes along all fair,
Fer three whole nights an’ days,
Fishin’, drinkin’ an’ eatin’,
And a-soakin’ of our clays.
Then the ’orrible thing ’appens