Like a kind of a sort of—I dont know what,
And talk sea-slang, to the world’s surprise?
My Yot!
What makes me settle my innermost soul
On winning a purposeless silver pot
And walk with a (very much) nautical roll?
My Yot!
What makes me learned in cutters and yawls,
And time-allowance—which others must tot—
And awfully nervous in sudden squalls?