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THE LAND, BOYS, THE LAND.
To sing about the sea's delights, your landsmen think it grand ;
What fools they are, let them to sea, and how they'll love the land ;
Let them box about, blow high, blow low, and, messmates, ar'n't you sure,
They'll long to change for shore-days soon the life that we endure ?
Oh! the sailor must be rough and the sailor tough must be,
For rough and tough, mates, is the life we sailors know at sea.
Oh! a man must see for six months but only sea and
. sky, Then he'll learn how storm-tost sailors for a sight of shore must sigh ;