Night’s fog had rolled on in
Long voyage to harbour – land ho!
Land at last for this ragged show.
Three fog horns led our fearless captain –
A man too honest for sailor’s gin,
All the way to One Armed Row.
Choicest of ales, where great seamen go,
And also toiled our captain’s sin.
She smiled at all who crossed the hearth:
Fodder for jealous types stuck out in open sea;
Mirth for all at One Armed Row.
Our captain, pure soil of the earth,
Led his men, each as anxious as he
To find what seeds they each could sow.