A capital ship for an ocean trip. Was the walloping window blind. No gale that blew dismayed her crew. Or troubled the captain's mind. The man at the wheel was taught to feel. Contempt for the wildest blow. And it often appeared when the weather had cleared. That he'd been in his bunk below. The boatswain's mate was very sedate. Yet fond of amusement too. And he played hopscotch with the starboard watch. While the captain tickled the crew. And the gunner we had was apparently mad. For he stood on the cannon's tail. And fired salutes in the captain's boots. In the teeth of a booming gale. The captain sat in a commodore's hat. And dined in a royal way. On toasted pigs and pickles and figs. And gummery bread each day. But the rest of us ate from an odious plate. For the food that was given the crew. Was a number of tons of hot cross buns. Chopped up with sugar and glue. We all felt ill as mariners will. On a diet that's cheap and rude. And the poop deck shook when we dipped the cook. In a tub of his gluesome food. Then nautical pride we laid aside. And we cast the vessel ashore. On the gulliby isles where the poohpooh smiles. And the anagzanders roar. Composed of sand was that favored land. And trimmed in cinnamon straws. And pink and blue was the pleasing hue. Of the tickletoeteasers claws. We climbed to the edge of a sandy ledge. And soared with the whistling bee. And we only stopped at four o'clock. For a pot of cinnamon tea. From dawn to dark on rubagub bark. We fed till we all had grown. Uncommonly thin. Then a boat blew in. On a wind from the torriby zone. She was stubby and square but we didn't much care. And we cheerily put to sea. We plotted a course for the land of blue horse. Due west 'cross the peppermint sea