From Liverpool to 'Frisco a-rovin' I went,
For to stay in that country was my good intent.
But drinkin' strong whiskey like other damn fools,
Oh, I soon got transported back to Liverpool, singin'.
Chorus:
Roll, roll, roll bullies, roll!
Them Liverpool judies have got us in tow.
2. A smart Yankee packet lies out in the Bay,
A-waitin' a fair wind to get under way.
With all of her sailors so sick and so sore,
They'd drunk all their whiskey and can't get no more.
Chorus:
3. Oh, here comes the mate in a hell of a stew.
He's lookin' for work for us sailors to do.
Oh, it's ``Fore tops'l halyards!'' he loudly does roar,
And it's lay aloft Paddy, ye son-o'-a-whore!
Chorus:
4. One night of Cape Horn I shall never forget,
'Tis oft-times I sighs when I think of it yet.
She was divin' bows under with her sailors all wet,
She was doin' twelve knots wid her mainskys'l set.
Chorus:
5. And now we are haulin' way on to the Line,
When I thinks of it now, sure, we had a good time.
Them sea-boys box-haulin' them yards all around
For to beat that flash packet called the Thatcher MacGowan.
Chorus:
6. And now we've arrived in the Bramleymoor Dock,
And all them flash judies on the pierhead do flock.
The barrel's run dry and our five quid advance,
And I guess it's high time for to git up and dance.
Chorus:
7. Here's a health to the Captain wherever he may be,
A bucko on land and a bully at sea,
But as for the chief mate, the dirty ol' brute,
We hope when he dies straight to hell he'll skyhoot.
Chorus: |
