A Swatchway Rambler, that’s the life for me, Listening to Beethoven and drinking pots and pots of tea. Waiting for the tide and following the breeze, There’s no stress on board, all is at ease. At the end of the day, with the boogie stove aglow, I sup on pot noodle (but, that, no one really needs to know).
Please come to Brighton for the SpringtimeI’m stayin’ in that ugly marina and there is so much to doYou can sell your kimchi out on the pavementBy the office where I hope to be workin’ soonPlease come to BrightonBut she said “No – MG won’t you come home to me?” And she said, “Hey Swatchway guy now won’t cha settle down?”“Brighton ain’t your kinda town”“There ain’t no mud and nobody
To the uninitiated the landscape of the Essex coast,Is just as bland as a piece of toast.There are no mountains, and even the cliffs are few,Only swatchways and mud, but what is a sailor to do? Some say the even bigger shame,Is that Essex victuals are just as lame.Even MG, who so loved this coast,Described a tin of hot Spam as an Essex roast. A few weeks past we cruised