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