By John McGroarty
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These authors romantic,
In language pedantic.
Have written and raved for years,
O'er the super-intensive,
And ultra-expensive illustrious engineers.

In song and in story,
They've covered with glory,
The man with the bulging brow;
So, to balance the ledger,
I'll sing of the Dredger,
The king of the old mud scow.

In spite of the knowledge
Acquired in college.
in spite of the blue print plan,
So nifty and graphic,
The Lord help the traffic,
Were it not for the Dredger Man.

Astute and sagacious,
In purpose tenacious,
He recks not of time or of tide;
With labor unending,
He's blasting and rending,
And fighting the frolicsome slide.

Oh he scatters the mud,
With a sickening thud
And he hammers the rock bound humps.
And he's building new land,
On the tide under sand,
By the power of his ponderous pumps.

When the hot sun is broiling,
He's drilling and toiling,
And planting his pet dynamite.
And he keeps up his pounding
And digging and sounding
Throughout the long reaches of night.

This grimy old salt
May have many a fault,
But he follows his own morale.
There's this much about him,
We can't do without him
in running the big canal.

He may not be pretty,
Nor brilliant or witty,
His manners are rugged and rough.
With temper erratic,
And always democratic,
He's noted for knowing his stuff.

He's not an exotic,
Or mildly erotic,
Just of the red-blooded mob;
Unsung and undeeded,
But constantly needed,
And faithfully there on the job.

He's long on capacity,
Short on tenacity,
Totally lacking in fear;
He's free from pretension
And heeds no convention,
But he's keeping the channel clear.

Go to it, Culebra,
You horny old zebra,
You're going to get battered and rammed;
You too, Cucaracha,
We're keen to come at 'cha,
So, slither and slide be damned.

Presented by CZBrats
Last Update:  October 16, 1998
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