An Original Collection of Songs :: :: University of Virginia Library

I sail'd from port one summer's day,
And for the South Seas made my way,
But got wreck'd in No Bottom Bay,
All on the Tongo Islands,
The King he made a chief of me,
His name was Koreekankikee—

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We got as thick as we could be,
And every night drank strong bohea;
Says he, ‘You shall be my son in-law,
And marry the Princess Washy Taw—’
Says I, ‘Your majesty, hold your jaw!
I will accept the Princess Paw—
With her tuzzy muzzy, hoki poki,
Hunky nunky, roki boki,
Pulka wulka, joki koki,
All in the Tongo Islands.

My bride was fair, as you'll suppose,
She wore a feather through her nose,
And had some rings upon her toes,
The pride of the Tongo Islands.
A mat she'd for a petticoat,
And a string of scalps wore round her throat,
For she'd kill'd fifty chiefs of note,
And did upon a battle doat—
Our wedding-feast description flogs,
'Twas in a palace built of logs—
We'd yam and blubber, and twelve bak'd hogs,
And, by way of a dainty, some roasted dogs—
With our tuzzy, &c.

A most accomplish'd wife was she,
And we lived in great harmony,
'Till the chiefs they jealous grew of me,
All in the Tongo Islands.
They swore they'd cut me up like pork,
And eat me without knife or fork—
Thinks I, why this is precious work,
And off my body I'd better walk,
So one fine morn, to show my wit,
Not being ready for the spit,
To cut and run I did think fit,
Thus, 'stead of biting, they were bit,
And their tuzzy, &c.

I'd at my wedding store of guests,
I'd lots of princes, chiefs, and priests,

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Who gutted like so many beasts,
All in the Tongo Islands.
There was the mighty Kangalore,
And Whangalore and Pinafore,
And Battledore and Bullyroar,
And Bandalore and forty more
The King, he drank three quarts of rum,
Which sowed him up—he was so dumb,
We thought he'd gone to kingdom come.
Which made the Queen look precious glum—
But after we had tweaked his nose,
He quickly jump'd upon his toes,
And floored us, just as we were foes,
All in the Tongo Islands.

Now here once more I'm safe and sound,
Thank Heaven! on Old England's ground,
And never more will I be found,
All in the Tongo Islands.
For what's the use of being chief,
Where we can't mutton get, and beef,
Nor a can of grog to give relief,
When out of spirits and in grief.
Although the lawyers here we dread,
That cut us up alive, 'tis said—
Yet there they knock you on the head,
And swallow you after you are dead!
So, give me England, still, d'ye see—
In spite of taxes—for we're free;
The devil himself may go for me,
All in the Tongo Islands.