Several submarines disappeared,
without a trace in the greatest, World War two,
ancient mariners of the Yankee race,
still dive’s and surface’s too,
a time shift to century twenty first,
6 torpedoes wait to run,
on the deck a 5 inch gun, immersed,
for the Japanese or Hun,
Then in the south Pacific, blue,
On Coral Sea war patrol,
A big ship of the rising sun, too,
A target like days of old,
Sailors man the deck gun of an iron look,
the whalers world is really shook.
A world war two submarine appears,
to stop the blood and flow of tears,
A rusty torpedo leaves the ship,
and punches a hole in the awful nip.
So down she goes as the water’s grippe,
the last of that awful whaling ship.
And the old Sub disappears.