Over the briny wave I go,In spite of the weather, in spite of the snow:What cares the hardy Eskimo?In my little skiff, with paddle and lance,I glide where the foaming billows dance.
I right my little kayak
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Over the briny wave I go,In spite of the weather, in spite of the snow:What cares the hardy Eskimo?In my little skiff, with paddle and lance,I glide where the foaming billows dance.