Navy, navy,
navy means sea heaves;
those heaved at sea grieve—
all have to ralph.

They see those sperm fins squirmin’,
turnin’, breechin’ the briny
Blue deep and spiny. . .
hurt ya if they're mad.

Can’t blame ’em if they start
so retchingly
with hurling upchuck
that stinks out at sea.

Tummies feeling tender
from belching spree.
So they wanna grieve
oh so egregiously.

Whoa! Tasty, tasty
not are chunks that blow.
No, they don’t want eats,
don’t want to eat no mo’.

Because they’re hurlin’, hurl is swirlin’. . .
once an inside treat—
former inside treat;
comin’ out hurts bad.

Of course, next come the farts
that burn the nearby eyes.
Those that hit the deck scream:
“You wanna seam that behind?!
Stay it, stay it! Euw—stay it!!”

Navy, navy, navy can mean beans.
They all should leave beans
up on the shelf.

Bleeeeeeew. Sail sheets, sail sheets
Air makes 'em luff so:
that’s the kind of wind
of which they want a lot mo’. . .

craving. craving. . .
air though from bung blows. . . .