Now just supposing
you got cash to spare
and you love to live,
but you don't know where.
You want a house, but you like to roam,
so you look around for a seafaring home,
with none of that dull permanence
that men ab hor.
And lady, if your husband's alcoholic,
this'll put him on the water for good.
Now houseboats come in
a lot of forms,
there's a tiny kind that
can weather storms,
there's a monstrous kind
with its own front yard
that'll heel right over if
you breathe too hard.
You can only take her out
if the water's like glass
And even then you gotta
watch out for cracks
But you sign the paper and
you board the boat
And prepare for livin' like
a king afloat
When you suddenly
find you're up the creek
Cause a doggone cellar's gone
and sprung a leak
And brother, when your cellar
gets flooded
on a houseboat
You get a sinkin' feeling in
the livin' room
Of course, if that were all,
it wouldn't be so bad
But your heir to trouble's
job never had
There's gnats, mosquitoes,
bugs galore,
mildew rot,
and a warping floor,
and your clothes will start
sprouting penicillin.
And the planking collapses
when your kid pokes at it with a
lollipop stick.
And that monster engine don't help a lot,
cause it roars and sparks,
but it makes one knot.
You're not going elsewhere
to enjoy the view,
lest the tide and the wind
are going that way, too.
Of course, maybe you can hire someone
to tow you at a nominal fee,
but a nominal leg is more like it.
So you'd better swallow
your pilgrim's pride
by an empty lot by the waterside.
Get a trucker, Derek,
and take her in tow.
Drag her up on shore,
far as she can go.
Cause it takes a heap of livin'
to make a boat a home.
But like the tow boatman said,
say that sure is a heap of ship.