“ She's a fine gell to look at, but the hitch is, She's a sight too fond of ships; She lives upon an iceberg to the norred, 'N' her man he's Davy Jones, 'N' she combs the weeds upon her forred With pore drowned sailors' bones. She's the mother o' the wrecks, 'n' the mother Of all big winds as blows; She's up to some deviltry or other When it storms, or sleets, or snows ”
