'There's a bloke I sometimes want to kick the worst way in the world,'
Said Bill, while from his short black pipe the dog-watch smoke-wreaths curled,
''E's a decent sort o' blighter, an' 'e mostly means me well,
But the 'arm that feller's done me it'd take a week to tell.'

''E spends my 'ard-earned cash on beer an' wine an' fancy gals,
'E gets me fightin' with cops an' scrappin' with my pals:
'E takes an' pawns my sea-chest when e's been an' burned my pay,
And' I've never got the bloomin' guts to up an' say 'im nay.'

''E's lost me every chanst I've 'ad o' getting' on in life:
If it 'and't been for 'im I'd 'ave a public an' a wife:
I've run my ship along of 'im an' wished I 'and't after:
Cut off my nose to spite my face an' what could you 'ave dafter?'

'There ain't no other chap alive I'd stand it from,' said Bill,
'But we've allus sailed together, an' I guess we allus will:
'E's a sort o' blessed inkybus or Old Man o' the Sea,
An' there ain't no shakin' of 'im off - for why? Because 'e's me!'