The Hiva, the High Palm. The Sailor's Orders, Yee.

Hail nakedness of our dancing girls. The hiva, hiva. Ah, low veiled, high palm. Tahiti, i still rest me on thy mat, but the soft soil has slid. I saw thee woven in the wood. Hear i the roaring streams from the peaks of spears when they leap down the crags and drown the villages. Stand by for reefing hardies. Swords pell mall. They'll go lunging presently. Danish sailor, crack, crack. So long as thou crackest thou holdest. English sailor, blood. We are the lads to hunt him up his whale. All ay ay, old manx sailor, how the three p