"Nothing would please me more," said Bunyip Bluegum.

"In that case," said Bill, "Let her go for a song.

"Ho, the cook of the 'Saucy Sausage",
Was a feller called Curry and Rice,
A son of a gun as fat as a tun
With a face as round as a hot cross bun,
Or a barrel, to be precise.

"One winter's morn we rounds the Horn,
A-rollin' homeward bound.
We strikes on the ice,
goes down in a trice,
And all on board but Curry and Rice
And me an' Sam is drowned.

"For Sam an' me an' the cook, yer see,
We climbs on a lump of ice,
And there in the sleet we suffered a treat
For several months from frozen feet,
With nothin' at all but ice to eat,
And ice does not suffice.

"And Sam and me we couldn't agree
With the cook at any price.
We was both as thin as a piece of tin
While that there cook was bustin' his skin
On nothin' to eat but ice.