When I was a youngster I sailed with th' rest
On a Liverpool packet bound out to th' west.
We anchored a day in the harbour o' Cork,
Then put out to sea for th' port o' New York.

An' it's Ho! Ro! Ho, bullies, ho!
Th' Liverpool Gir-ils have got us in tow.

For thirty-two days we wos hungry an' sore.
Th' wind wos agin us an' gales they did roar;
But at Battery Point we did anchor at last,
Wit' th' jib-boom hove in an' th' canvas all fast.

Th' boardin' house masters was off in a trice,
An' shoutin' an' promisin' all that was nice;
An' one fat old crimp he got cotton to me,
An' said I wos foolish t' follow th' sea.

Ses he, "There's a job as is waitin' for you,
Wid lashins o' likker an' nothin' t' do.
Now, what d'ye say, lad, will you jump her too?"
Ses I, "Ye old beggar, I'm damned if I do!"

But th' best ov intentions they never goes far,
After thirty-two days, at th' door ov a bar.
I tossed off me likker an' what do ye think?
The dirty ould rascal had drugs in me drink.

Th' next I remimber, I woke in th' morn
In a three skysail yarder boun' south roun' th' Horn.
With an ould suit o' oilskins, an' two pair o' sox,
An' a floorin' o' bricks at th' foot av me box.

Now all ye young sailors take warnin' by me,
Keep watch on y'er drink when th' likker is free,
An' pay no attintion t' runner or whore,
When y'er hat's on y'er head an' y'er foot's on th' shore.