Dorchester, Mass! It's a helluva town. Andrew's up and Lower Mills is down. People ride in a hole in the ground! Dorchester, Mass! It a wonderful town.
Dorchester is a visitors' place. People live there on account of the pace. 100,000 folk with plenty of space. Dorchester, Mass. it's a wonderful place.
Dorchester women dress in silk and satin, or so the fellas say. Dorchester gals are both thin and fattened and they smile all through the day. "No way!" you say? Okay...
When sailors pull into port they head to Dorchester, where the most robust good times are to be had. If you've only got twenty-four hours in Boston before shore leave ends, you might spend a few hours touring downtown, but once evening nears, it's Dorchester that pulls the sailors in like a siren. On a sailor's pay, military scrip will buy more Dot grog than Back Bay Manhattans. The company is better too, more in tune with a swabbie's sensibilities. Simple pleasures and earthy talk.
Just as some sailors have a girl in every port, some Dorchester girls have a sailor on every ship. Dot hospitality is known all over the wide, undulating breasts of the Seven Seas. Many a seasoned bo'sun has been a Dot maid's boatswain. Keep that under your foc'sle and don't tell the coxswain you've been worming the cuntline all the time you've been on shore. No one will believe you've been pulling duty in Dorchester, that seaman's paradise.
Dorchester's whereabouts is well known. Every Master-at-Arms, Pharmacist's Mate, Seaman Schmucketelli, titless WAVE and powder monkey has been to Dorchester at least once on a tour. Those stationed far away have heard marvelous tales of the delights found along the shores of Dorchester Bay. Neither compass nor sextant is needed to find good times in the Dot. Old hands guide raisins loaded with rubber hooeys for the good times sure to roll after the pucker factor has subsided. (Translations here.)
Dorchester, Mass! It beats New York for port call.