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Kris Kraft

I miss my trusty Kris Kraft
That itsy bitsy skiff
With topsiders and chinos
Freshly pressed and stiff

And sometimes when I'm landlocked
And yearning for the sea
I get into my bathtub
Indulge my reverie

For the quickest silver

We look so very civilized
In shocking pink and green

And what about the beach club
On Wednesday afternoon
The ladies clucking lowly
Like enemy platoons

One, two, three, go