Gliding Through My Memory

I am a vagabond sailor,
All my friends call me "sport."
I am a fellow for action,
Any storm in a port.
(Any storm in a port, ha?... Back to the laundry!)

Now that I'm home and I'm resting
Home from over the sea,
All of the girls who adored me
Go gliding through my memoree.

A sweet colleen from Ireland,
Her hair was fiery red,
Her eyes gave out a green light
That said I could go ahead.
(Say somehing in Irish. -- Elin go Blah.)

I met a girl in Sweden
Of whom I grew quite fond,
A stately Scandinavian type,
A buxom, blue-eyed blonde.

And then in merry England,
A girl who worshipped me,
Gliding through me memoree;
That's how I see them,
Gliding through me memoree!

In sunny Barcelona,
A dancing chick I picked.
Her castanets were clicking
Like nothing ever clicked.
(--Ole!-- You can say that again!)

A very friendly ma'mselle,
In oo-la-la Paree,
She was a girl who couldn't say
Anything but --Oui!--

'Twas fun to cast an anchor
In lovely Casablancer.
I loved a Grecian doll and
Another doll in Holland,
But of all the girls in ev'ry hemisphere
There is no one like the girl have right here.