  Jack Tot is as big as a baby's thumb, And his dinner is only a drop and a crumb And a wee little sailor is he. Heigh ho! A very fine sailor is he. He made his boat of a walnut shell; He sails her at night, and he steers her well Heigh ho! The wing of a bumblebee. She is rigged with the hair of a lady's curl, And her lantern is made of a gleaming pearl, And it never goes out in a gale. Heigh ho! It never goes out in a gale. Her mast is made of a very long thorn; She's a bell for the fog, and a cricket's horn, And a spider spun her sail. Heigh ho! A spider he spun her sail. She carries a cargo of baby souls, And she crosses the terrible Nightmare Shoals, On her way to the Isles of Rest. Heigh ho! The beautiful Isles of Rest. The Slumber Sea is the sea she sails, While the skipper is telling incredible tales Ho! ho! He's fond of a merry jest. When the little folks yawn they're ready to go, And the skipper is lifting his sail—he ho! In the swell how the little folks nod! Ha! ha! Just see how the little folks nod! He fluttered his wing as they ast him to sing an' he tried fer t' clear out his throat; He hemmed an' he hawed an' he hawked an' he cawed But he couldn' deliver a note. The swallow was there an' he ushered each pair in his linsey an' claw-hammer coat. The bobolink tried fer t' flirt with the bride, in a way that was sassy an' bold, An' the notes that he took as he shivered an' shook Had a sound like the jingle o' gold. He sat on a brier an' laughed at the choir an' told The sexton he came—Mr. Spider by name—a citizen hairy an' gray. His rope in a steeple, he called the good people That live in the land o' the hay. The ants an' the squgs an' the crickets an' bugs came out in a mighty array. A number came down from ole Barleytown an' the neighborin' city o' Rye. An' the little black people each climbed up a steeple, An' sat lookin' up at the sky; They came fer t' see what a weddin' might be an' they furnished the cake an' the pie.
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