Our Singing Country

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Our Singing Country
SAILORS
Wraf me in my tarfaulin jacket
And say a foor buffer lies low, lies low}
And six stalwart lancers shall carry me
With step mournful, solemn, and slow,
I know I shan't get into heaven.
And I donyt want to go down below-o-o-o.
Oh, ainh there some flace in between them
Where this foor old buffer can go?
Where the laughing dolfhins flay,
Where the shrimfs and sharks are having their larks,
Ten thousand miles away,
*          *          #
SANTY ANNO
e. No. 652. J. M. Hunt ("Sailor Dad"), Marion, Va., 1935. See Bo, p. 129; Col, p. 84} Wha, p. 65j also "Round the Bay of Mexico," this volume, p. 88.
Captain Richard Maitland, blue-water sailor, eighty years old but with a body like an oak stake, says about the shanties:
"Don't you suppose we sang shanties all the time! It was only when we hit the forties and half the ocean was coming over our side and you didn't feel like, pulling for God's sake that we used the histing shanties. They put heart in a man, and we could all pull together better."
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