Oh, chum, all ye baitful;
Joy’s for those trolling runs.
Oh, chum, ye; oh, chum, ye
For fine fettle finned.
Chum, dip that bowl in,
Pour it on the agua.
Oh, chum on, get it pouring,
Oh, chum on—don’t be snoring,
Oh, chum on, though it’s boring.
Line are on port.

Sink, lines for angel-
fish; they’re great gustation.
Sink, balls of lead that lead the hook to a perch.
There will be farfetched
Stories, cause we lie best.
So, chum on, get it pouring,
So, chum on—don’t be boring,
Go chum, so fish we’re scoring.
Fie on the port!

All ale’s our treat, we
Pour it all the morning.
Whoa! We’re leaning overboard—Dramamine’s no more!
Purged to the water,
And the fish are nearing.
No chum—they want the pouring
That comes from our disgorging
The chunks we had been storing.
They want some more!