WHEN, where, or how, It matters not a damn; East, west, or south, Mariki or Apaman, Land, only land, land me With my little pack, Land on any mortal island, Poor Tin Jack! @3Chorus@1 I'm landing, I'm landing, Landing with my little pack. I hear your husky voices calling, Poor Tin Jack! Much they may care For the dangers of my fate. Martin's at home And the cow-tub's at the gate. False nose on face Snowy wig on head and back. Oh what a moving sight to see is Poor Tin Jack! Bright rolls the sea On a hundred lovely shores. Each'll do for me And my deteriorated stores. Land, only land, Land me and my little pack, And leave with Billy Jones's Cousin Poor Tin Jack! Hear my last word Now when I'm about to land. Drink wisdom in As we shake the parting hand. No use to talk Or to argue for and back. Approx-imacy forms the aim of Poor Tin Jack! Long at your board 'Mid the quibblers I was dumb. Quaffing the wine, Laying on the little tum. Now let your ship Square away along her track, The flushed, fantastic quibblers leaving Poor Tin Jack! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WYNKEN, BLYNKEN AND NOD by EUGENE FIELD THE NIGHT OF TRAFALGAR by THOMAS HARDY HABEAS CORPUS by HELEN MARIA HUNT FISKE JACKSON THE DARK ANGEL by LIONEL PIGOT JOHNSON RESIGNATION by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW |