Joe makes models, beauties too,
Not much that way that Joe can't do.

Any ship you like to name,
Say the word, it's all the same.
Joe'll do her, true as life,
All with just his sailor's knife,
Whittle out her masts and spars,
Sheave-blocks, deadeyes, capstan bars,
To the last belaying pin,
Cut out little sails of tin,
Carve a little figurehead,
Paint her house-flag blue and red,
Tinker with her half a year,
Then, the first pub he gets near,
Sell her for a pint o' beer.