Myself, it don’t excite me nor amuse
    To watch a pack o’ shipping on the sea,
But I can understand my neighbour’s views
    From certain things which have occurred to me.

Men must keep touch with things they used to use
    To earn their living, even when they are free;
And so come back upon the least excuse—
    Same as the sailor settled near the sea.

He knows he’s never going on no cruise
    He knows he’s done and finished with the sea
And yet he likes to feel she’s there to use—
    If he should ask her—as she used to be.

Even though she cost him all he had to lose,
    Even though she made him sick to hear or see,
Still, what she left of him will mostly choose
    Her skirts to sit by. How comes such to be?

Parsons in pulpits, tax payers in pews,
    Kings on your thrones, you know as well as me,
We’ve only one virginity to lose,
    And where we lost it there our hearts will be!