San Francisco

I was drinkin' wine that night in Mike's bar, she was cozied close to me in side booth. Me ship, anchored quarter league not so far, lay in deep Frisco fog mate, that's whole truth. I was havin' bloomin' time in me youth, for Frisco's not so bad waitin' over. Rose loves likes of me but she's an old tooth, even so her wine put me in clover. Me ship's headed for the white cliffs Dover. Lights in me head flickered, they left me daft. I thought I should find now me ship. Rover. My last hearin' moment, I thought she laughed. Woke with me head hurting great at sea now. Waitin', breathin' fumes of strange rust-worn scow.