Our lucky stars for a lo’d of plank,
Ker-clink, ker-chank,
And still we bounced that old pump crank.
So we woggled on like a bale of hay,
And we set our teeth and we pumped with
groans.
At last we got to Boston bay;
But our arms were stretched to our ankle bones,
Hands were the size of corn-fed hams,
Eyes bulged out like the horns o’ rams,