'All that sort o' guff,' said Bill, 'they may keep
About 'ow nice it is bein' buried at sea,
For I don't want no rest in the rollin' deep,
Nor yet no blinkin' fishes a-nibblin' me.'

'I never could see no sense in slingin' a rhyme
Over a bolt o' sail an' a dollop o' lead,
An' sailormen get salt water enough in their time
Not to be wantin' the taste of it after they're dead.'

'An' if I was goin' to be buried, the place for me
'Ud be some snug port or other, I don't mind where,
Somewhere within the sound an' smell o' the sea,
East or West or South - well, I won't much care.'

'So long's I can lay quiet an' hear the ships
Goin' an' comin' . . . an' sailormen 'avin' their fun . . .
A song an' a laugh an' a drink an' a girl's red lips . . .
An' a bit of a shellback's yarn when the long day's done.'