On the good ship Southerland, the Seven-forty-three,
I sailed with Bobby Wellborn, the Turkey of the Sea!
We never joined a task-force, no matter what they say,
'Cause when they saw us, other skippers quickly sailed away!

No mercy for the deck-apes, no mercy for the snipes,
He worked our fingers to the bone to get his captain's stripes!
They tell me he was Jewish (or so it's been inferred):
Each time he faced promotion-boards, Pass-over was observed!

CHORUS:
On the good old Southerland, I had some happy years
Off-loading surplus ammo, and running into piers.
Bobby said "If you'll be good, I'll let you have some fun --
We'll go to San Clemente, and you can shoot the guns!"

One day, we towed the Carpenter (DD-Eight-twenty-five) --
The XO made a boo-boo: He let the skipper drive!
A backing-bell to Main Control, a forward-bell to Aft,
And Bobby wrapped the towing-line around the starboard shaft!

Three hours or more we drifted there outside of One-SD --
The divers tried, and tried again, but couldn't get us free!
The towing-line had got the shaft in a boa-constrictor's hug,
So poor old Boom-boom Bobby Wellborn had to call a tug!

(REPEAT CHORUS)

One day, Bobby took the conn and started such a fuss,
The XO hit the squawk-box; here's what he said to us:
"Hit the decks a-runnin', boys, and turn this ship around --
Boom-boom Bobby's got the conn -- we're gonna run aground!"

The pier was just a mile away, and we were closing fast.
When we hit it broadside, I knew it wouldn't last!
Pier Nine at ASW School is just a memory
Since Boom-boom Bobby rammed it with the Seven-forty-three!

FINAL CHORUS:
They de-commissioned Southerland, and sold her hull for scrap,
So no more ammo, no more piers, and no more Bobby's crap.
Now thirty years have come and gone since Bobby sailed the sea,
And that's the end of Bobby and the Seven-forty-three!