Our New Song

Oh, we are Stinkpotters*, Stinkpotters we,
No more to sail,
Across the bounding sea.
Fossil fuels we’ll have to burn,
On Grand Canal Erie,
Oh, we are Stinkpotters, Stinkpotters we!

For sixty days we’ll putter on,
As though a motor boat,
Its just too thin to use the wind,
And bridges much too low.

We can’t traverse the man-made ditch,
With pole and cloth aloft,
So mast be laid and sails stowed,
And rigging taken off.

At Hop-O-Nose marina,
A strange name I agree,
They lowered our mast,
“Unstepped the Lass”,
As you can plainly see.

At Catskill Creek we did this work,
With iron crane quite rusty,
The Fellows do this every day,
They’re competent and crusty.

A line is wrapped around the mast,
To stabilize in place,
The rigging then is all undone,
And neatly bound in place.

With rigging loose the mast is raised,
And wires disconnected,
Then lifted clear and balanced near,
A cradle is erected.

Once all is set the metal mast,
Is slowly lowered down,
On cradle to be made quite fast,
With lashings all around.

Oh, we are Stinkpotters, Stinkpotters we,
No more to sail,
Across the bounding sea.
Fossil fuels we’ll have to burn,
On Grand Canal Erie,
Oh, we are Stinkpotters, Stinkpotters we!

*A term used by sailors to describe motor boaters.

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