Oh I do like to be beside the seaside,
the lonely sea and the sky,
picking sand out of sandwiches,
with the strong smell of seaweed
drying in the sun, calor gas
in a beach hut, damp towels,
and the taste of the salt of the sea
when you first go in for a swim.
Oh I do like to be on the
sea-peeping pier, in the penny arcades,
by the boats in the southerly wind,
with fish and chips and milky weak tea,
and seagulls with sideways eyes,
the dusty odour of harbour rope,
the stench of rotting fish,
and Biddy the Tubman bobbing the swell
with a girl and a leer on his face.
Oh I do like to be under
the cliff, at the back of the beach
where the chalky pebbles smell
like pillars in a church,.
with the musky scent of ombre solaire,
stones with limpets on,
jelly sandals, and candy floss,
the band on the stand playing
Rule Britannia and Pedro the Fisherman.
my lips are sticky with honeycomb,
and the salt of the sea’s on my tongue.
And I must go down to the seas again
Again and again and again
