Just six miles south of Eden on the shores of Twofold Bay

There’s a little cove cut in the rocks where small ships sometimes lay.

’Twas here that two old seamen seeking shelter for the night

Dropped anchor late one evening, for the weather wasn’t right.

Now a tale of what befell them, I’ve noted with my pen,

For this very night they vanished and were never seen again.

It was after dropping anchor and they’d locked themselves below

To shelter from the mosquitoes that lived there long ago.

They were bigger than you’ve ever seen or read about in books:

One farmer down there told me they were mating with his chooks.

Well the mossies came in swarms that night, damn near made the boat a wreck;

They tried to get into the fo’csle by boring through the deck.

Old Scott cried out in panic, “We’ll be taken by these things!”

So they took to them with hammers and they clinched up all their stings.

With the mossies safely fastened, and all was peace and quiet,

The old-timers had a rum or two and retired for the night.

It was Scott who first awakened when the dawn was in the sky,

And he opened up the porthole and let out a fearful cry.

“I’ll never touch the rum again, I’m going on a dry!

To think that we’re up in the clouds, and I know that boats don’t fly.”

“It’s those mossies!” cried out Ikey, “When we clinched up all their stings,

Now they’ve lifted up our vessel with the beating of their wings.

And where we are now, Charlie, by God I do not know,

I can just make out the ocean, and it’s miles and miles below!”

I can only guess what happened next, as this tale I do relate,

But it’s safe to say they flew away right to the Pearly Gates.

And I know for sure they’ll let them in – two old seamen brave and bold,

For Peter on the gate up there was a fisherman of old.

If you make it up to heaven, you’ll see that boat there, like as not,

Skippered by Old Ike Warren and his shipmate Charlie Scott.