I have a hard job aboard this blue boat
Hanging down here or there between vessel and float
Pressed into service, squeezed into tight spaces
When the boat is tied up on a dock at some places

I am fat and full-figured, inflated and filled
But often go flaccid when air becomes chilled
A fender like me is as light as a feather
Easy to move but tough as old leather

I get no real credit for all that I do
Saving the hull from bad landings and crew
When winds and wakes push hard on the dock
Who takes the brunt, who takes the shock?

Sometimes awash I am dragging my butt
In soggy old seaweed or greasy rot-gut
But dressed in my tight-fitting wetsuit material
I’m extremely good looking, even imperial

No wooden, nor metal nor concrete construction
Will easily cause my total destruction
No one aboard cares a wit for my safety
I was once lost at sea, my rescue unhasty

My buddies aboard number five-fold
Some are like brothers, others quite old
We have some fun times when not pressed into use
Just hanging about telling tales of abuse

At anchor no need for a fender like me
We’re on vacation when the boat is at sea
When a nearby marina comes close into sight
I’m thrown over the rails and on watch for the night.

I’m a fender defender of this jolly blue boat
A suspended sensation keeping Jupiter afloat.