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There's some that's bound for New York town,
And some that's bound for France;
Heave away, my Johnny --- heave away.
And some that's bound for the Bengal Bay,
To teach them whales a dance;
Heave away, my Johnny boy --- we're all bound to go.
The pilot he is awaiting for,
The turnin' of the tide;
Heave away, my Johnny --- heave away.
And then, me boys, we'll be gone again,
With a good and a westerly wynd;
Heave away, my Johnny boy --- we're all bound to go.
Come all you hard workin' sailor men,
Who round the cape of storm;
Heave away, my Johnny --- heave away.
Be sure you've boots and oilskins,
Or you'll wish you never was born;
Heave away, my Johnny boy --- we're all bound to go.
And farewell to you, you Kingston girls,
Farewell, St. Andrews dock;
Heave away, my Johnny --- heave away.
If ever we return again,
We'll make your cradles rock;
Heave away, my Johnny boy --- we're all bound to go.
And there's some that's bound for New York town,
Some that's bound for France;
Heave away, my Johnny --- heave away.
And some that's bound for the Bengal Bay,
To teach them whales a dance;
Heave away, my Johnny boy --- we're all bound to go.
