WHYC Songs

SONGS OF THE WINTER HARBOR YACHT CLUB

For it's home, boys, home, oh, it's home we want to be,
Back in our home by the side of the sea,
Back in a seat at the Winter Harbor Club,
Where they mix the bonnie liquor in a twenty-gallon tub.

Oh! Once again we're gathered 'round the wet and festive board,
Once more we raise our voices in petition to the Lord
To grant us decent breezes that will waft us on our road,
And to spare us all the dreadful fate of being forever towed.

I give you Mr. Henderson, the man who runs the place,
He tries his very best to win in every single race.
He always takes a lady out to help him with the boat,
And if perchance he doesn't win, the girl becomes the goat.

Oh! Mitchell Rosengarten likes the races in a gale;
He tears across the starting line and never shortens sail.
He shouts at little Warner, "This is what I call a breeze,
Lie flat upon your belly and I'll crown you if you sneeze.

John Davis is a sailorman, the heaviest we've reared,
The only motion on his boat's the breezes in his beard.
Maneuvering 'round the starting line I heard him loudly shout,
"Excuse the interruption, boys, but what's it all about?"

Gene Dixon has an awful job, it almost gets his goat,
His crew run all around the deck and nearly sink the boat.
And when they set an extra sail, they work so very fast
That they never get it settled 'til the finish line is passed.

Now Little Charlie Cheston owns a boat he doesn't sail,
He has exciting races, but he does it through the mail.
So when his boat has won a race he gets a telegram,
And he simply takes another drink, he doesn't give a damn!

Now Mr. Hammond's very quiet and most efficient, too.
His boat she travels 'round the course as though she had a screw.
He eggs you on to win a race and then she shows his legs.
Oh, there isn't any doubt of it, for surely Hammond eggs.

Old Sam Henderson, a sailorman of note,
Ships a load of ladies in his black and sinful boat.
So when he's crossed the starting line heruns away and plays.
He may not win the races, but he has some perfect days.

Old Matt Maury, a sailor of renown,
Says "Every dog must have his day, we all go up and down.
But someday soon I'll win a race, and when that comes to pass,
You are hereby all invited just to kiss my royal ___!"

Old Sam Davis has left us for a while.
We miss his girlish laughter and his scintillating smile.
His boat is now being handled by a very Willling crew.
They're willing to do anything, but don't know what to do.

Dal Dixon several years ago just loved to sail a race
And frequently in bygone days he used to set the pace.
But now I heard them ask him if he'd like to have a try,
He simply shook his head and said, "I think I'll stick to Rye."

Oh, now we'll sing of Mr. Noyes, the man who owns the "Star,"
An honorary member of the Winter Harbor Bar.
His son-in-law's been knighted, and it's certain as can be
That Mr. Noyes will soon be holding "Hands across the sea."

John Price Wetherill, Jr., My! But that's a name.
Trapping English sparrows put him in the Hall of Fame.
He bands them every single time they chance to come around.
Some of the birds have a hell of a time in gertting off the ground.

Oh Mr. Berkeley Taylor is the hardy pioneer
Who landed first upon these shores with whiskey, wine, and beer.
He's watched six different managements go quietly up the spout,
And he doesn't give a damn because his liquor's holding out.

Oh, Mr. Corlies Morgan runs the Pari Mutuel,
And from the Banker's standpoint, boys, I'll say he runs it well.
You put five dollars in the pot and get the winning smack,
Then under Morgan's system you can have your money back.

Oh, Bert's the Judge, but mark my words, he still has lots to learn;
He doesn't know the bowsprit from the cockpit or the stern.
He cruises 'round the ocean with a belly full of gin;
The only thing that Bert decides is when to tow them in.

Old George Dixon, on the porch he holds his class,
And stretches out the glad hand to all the guests who pass.
He brings us in to luncheon and he puts us in our place,
And he calls so many speakers that we can't get off to race.

Alas! George Dallas Dixon has resigned the luncheon throne,
But for a thousand years to come we'll claim him for our own.
He now refuses to preside, but let us thank the Lord
He'll be elected by acclaim as Chairman of the Board.

Our leader, Berkely Taylor, keeps a tavern of renown.
And to it flock assorted guests from in and out of town.
What happens when the doors are closed, no one can ever doubt,
For though the guests go walking in they always stagger out.

Let's sing of old John Davis, who has left the sporting game,
Abandoning athletics for a life of sloth and shame;
He likes to lounge beside the pool, where beauty does invite him,
But he always keeps his blinkers on for fear it might excite him.

Our next is Corlies Morgan, the Treasurer is he
Of old Ben Franklin's Pennsylvania University."
If its accounts are handled like our Pari Mutuel,
'Twill not be long before his Alma Mater goes to hell!

Old Mitchell Rosengarten, a shooter is of note,
Of crap and quail and canvasback, and what goes down his throat.
His life has been erratic, but it's twenty times erraticker
Since Mitchell Rosengarten was stricken with sciatica.

Now Charlie's been a lowly gob for lo! these many years,
He ate the bread of sorrow and he drank the cup of tears.
Now Brother John has trusted Charles to show a little speed,
And John will soon find out he leans upon a broken Reed.

When deficits are mounting, and trade is in a jam,
The nation's last resort has been "Appeal to Uncle Sam!"
Our Uncle Sam, however, is not worried by the crash...
He just divides the deficit and asks us all for cash.

A nautical authority is Mr. Robert Fell,
He judged the races fourteen years and dodged the issues well.
Now Scott has been elected -- they come from different schools --
But they have one point in common, for neither knows the rules!

A happy man was Frank N. Noyes when he put out to sea,
His yacht packed to the gunwales with femininity;
He was frolicsome with dark brunettes or Titian reds in dozens --
But they were never were his sisters or his daughters or his cousins.

When every land's complaining of the horrors of deflation,
Price Wetherill's a paradox, he grows by liquidation!
His abdomen, enough for ten, does strain upon his shirt;
It's the only thing, God save the King! As big as Mt. Desert.

Joe Thayer's the blue-eyed baby who has never had enough;
Though weaned on Benedictine, he despised the milky stuff;
He cried for Russian vodka at the tender age of eight,
And now he drinks wood alcohol, and always takes it straight.

Oh, Harry Platt is here again, to jopin our jolly crew,
He doesn't know a halyard from a forcing bid of two;
When his skipper in a passion said, "Get busy now, you clown!"
Our Harry said, "Aye, aye, sir!" -- and he let the mainsail down.

Doctor Edward Krumbhaar pretends to love the sea.
But what he's interested in is just pathology.
He took a test of Price's blood and had conniption fits,
For what the slide revealed was unadulterated Schlitz.

In the multitude of Dixons there is one named Fitz Eugene,
But yachting and the tennis court sometimes confuse his bean.
It's hard upon his crew when, in a period of squalls,
They ask their skipper what he wants, and Genie answers "Balls!"

The Lord he made the Englishman, but nobody knows why,
Unless he needed something to try our patience by.
So here we have Sir Wilmot Lewis, and when he heaves in sight,
Though day be perfect yet we know we'll have a dreadful Knight.

Scott Landreth is a bon vivant of credit and renown,
When someone else provides the cup he'll always drink it down;
On exceptional occasions he invites us all to swill,
But the records show, alas! heighho! He never foots the bill.

CHORUS

It's home, girls, home, it's home you ought to be,
Back in your homes and a-brewing your tea,
And not in your seats in the Winter Harbor Club
Where they brew forbidden liquor in a twenty-gallon tub.

There are some that are pot-valiant, but Dimple doesn't sup,
There are some that go pot-hunting, put Dimple wants no cup;
She's interested in the draw that brings her crew's selection,
She wants to add Sam Henderson to the Widener collection.

Old Marlowe said that Helen's face had launched a thousand ships,
But we've two Helens who remain, in nautical eclipse;
One's a putting wonder, the other plays the net,
But when it comes to knockabouts, these Helens are "all wet."

Just a word on Paget Platt, a simple Southern maid,
Who sails a boat as though she meant to break the Yank blockade,
She's independent of the breeze, she laughs at drifting spells,
For she fills her sails and drives along by force of Rebel yells.

Now raise your glass to Aimee Thayer, that striking, Viking blonde,
This maid demure, with morals pure, who's known by "tout le monde,"
One twinkle of her roguish eye, one wiggle of her hips,
Would sound the call to action on a fleet of battleships.

Now Isabel's a sailor lass who's raced for many years,
And rounded many buoys with curses ringing in her ears;
As to the boat she sails today she doesn't give a damn.
Her motto crude, both firm and rude, is just "To hell with Sam!"

If our racing regulations were only free for all,
We'd have a naval contest of the sort that cannot pall,
Between two doughty Amazons, two grand old salts, by Jingo!
Mrs. Gummey on the Elrod, Mrs. Davis on the Bingo.

Serene above the battle, for shes counts no seaman's job hers,
Sits Mrs. Groome, the matriarch of all the Pencoyd robbers,
Her name it once was Roberts, and her lineage was old --
The Newbolds do not please her, for she thinks them new and bold.

Then there are Fanny Landreth and her cousin Janet Noyes.
Though their lovely locks are powdered they can still corral the boys.
In them the Newbold blood is blue; of them it is a truth
That though others may advance in age, these two advance in youth.

But who are these who cover make of a verandah screen?
Maria, Floss, and Charlotte, and also Mary Dean.
Battle-scarred and bottle-scared, bloodthirsty, unafraid,
They are the hardy veterans of the old Mah Jongg brigade.

LADIES RACE DAY

I am the blonde Aimee don't anyone blame me
If I never win any race, I've had the best crew
Anyone ever drew, but I lost
What a frost, and they say --

My name's Louise Maury, I'll tell you a story
Of sailing the waters of Maine. What a chance to come through
With the regular crew, what a shame
Who's to blame, and they say --

I am the fair Izzy, I make the men dizzy
When it comes to sailing a boat. But I don't give a damn
For I won't race with Sam as a crew
I am through, and they say --

My name now is Thompson. I'm not from Wisconsin,
I worked as a Groome in PA. I've now gained the top
Since I've taken the hop up to Trop
Cheer: Oh Boy, and they say --

My name's Mrs. Hammond, I don't like a mill pond
The rougher the better for me. In many a race
I have set them the pace. I'm at home
On the foam, and they say --

I'm Maris Madeira and naught could be clearer
Than that I'm at home on the sea. The Agnes or Asthore
Is all that I ask for. Each one
I am on, and they say --

My name is Maria and once I did hire
A skipper from over the seas. He told me to tack
And I answered right back, I'm no fool
Here's the pool, and I say --

I am Dimple Dixon, I don't need much fixen
To help me sail over the line. Of all the fair ladies
As nervous as Hades, that's me, on the sea.

I WAS BORN ABOUT TEN THOUSAND YEARS AGO

And there isn't anything that I don't know.
I was there when Pharaoh's daughter
Lifted Moses from the water,
And I'll lick the guy who says it isn't so.

For a thousand years I roamed the garden o'er,
I saw Eve sliding down the cellar door;
When the apple they were eating --
I was round the corner peeking,
I swear I am the man who ate the core.

I rolled the bones with Cain and Abel now and then;
When the hand wrote on the wall, I wiped the pen;
When Moses smote the mountain
I met Becky at the fountain;
Did the nights go slow thereafter -- guess again.

I knew King Solomon and all his wives so fair;
I saw Absolom a-hanging by the hair.
When I saved kind David's life,
And he offered me a wife,
I said, "Now you're talking business; have a chair!"

I was there when John the Baptist lost his head,
And I heard the very words Salome said.
When they brought out the bloody charger
Both his eyes were growing larger --
Oh! My God, a dance like that would raise the dead.

I was present at the battle of the Nile.
Did the bullets whistle there? Well, I should smile.
When David caught the King
With his cutlass on the wing,
I was doing thirty seconds to the mile.

I was on board when Hendrick Hudson crossed the sea;
The Half Moon dropped anchor just at half-past three.
We got off upon the land,
Shook the Red Skins by the hand,
Then walked up Broadway to Rector's for our tea.

CHORUS

No hiding place down there, Allelulia!
No hiding place down there, Praise God!
Some come limp and some come lame,
Some come shouting the Master's name. No hiding place down there!

Of all the religions I love best, I love best
Of all the religions I love best, I love best,
Of all the religions I love best
It is the shouting Methodist! No hiding place down there!

Sister Lulu, she wore a low-neck dress, a low-neck dress,
Sister Lulu, she wore a low-neck dress, a low-neck dress,
Sister Lulu wore a low-neck dress,
It was damn low I must confess! No hiding place down there!

She stood in the water, ankle-deep, ankle-deep,
She stood in the water, ankle-deep, ankle-deep,
She stood in the water, ankle-deep,
And prayed for the Lord her soul to keep! No hiding place down there!

A city man stood at the gates of hell, gates of hell,
A city man stood at the gates of hell, gates of hell,
A city man stood at the gates of hell,
He took one look and down he fell! No hiding place down there!

My name is Yon Yonson, I come from Wisconsin;
I work in the lumber yards there. As I walk down the street,
All the people I meet they say --"What's his name?"

My name is John Davis, they all cry -- "God save us!"
As I come out of the bar, with a full cocktail shaker
And no other taker, they say -- "What a shame, what's his name?"

CHORUS

Young folks, old folks, everybody come,
Join the Baptist Sunday School, and have a lot of fun;
Please check your chewing-gum and razors at the door,
And hear a lot of stories that you've never heard before.

Adam was the first man that ever was invented.
He lived all alone, anad he wasn't discontented.
The Lord took a rib, which gave him a pain;
Along came Eve, and they both raised Cain!

Jonah was a traveler, so runs the Bible tale
He took steerage passage in a Trans-Atlantic whale.
Jonah in the belly of the whale did find distress;
So he merely pushed the button, and the whale did the rest!

Old Man Noah, walking after dark,
Found himself a hammer, and built himself an Ark:
The animals came in two by two,
The hippopotamus and the kangaroo!