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Now, there she goes with the wind right off,
Crowded with canvas below and aloft;
The ringtail hoist to the mizzen peak,
And a rattling breeze makes the old ship shake.
To me right fol-de-dee, Fol-di-dee,
Right to me leera, Me right fol-de-dee.
The old man came up in his morning gown,
He looked to windward, he looked all around;
He looked to looard and he looked aloft,
Saying, "Square those yards both fore and aft."
To me right fol-de-dee, Fol-di-dee,
Right to me leera, Me right fol-de-dee.
Then down below then he did crawl,
For his steward so loud did bawl;
Saying, "Give me a dram that'll make me cough,
For there's far better weather down below than up aloft."
To me right fol-de-dee, Fol-di-dee,
Right to me leera, Me right fol-de-dee.
Now, us poor sailors on the deck must stand,
The wind and the water blowing o'er each hand;
Not a drink or dram can we get at all,
But it's darn your souls on every call.
To me right fol-de-dee, Fol-di-dee,
Right to me leera, Me right fol-de-dee.
Now, there's one more wish that I do crave,
That our old skipper may never get a grave;
May he be drowned on some foreign shore,
Where the sharks will have his body and the devil have his soul.
To me right fol-de-dee, Fol-di-dee,
Right to me leera, Me right fol-de-dee.
Sung by Morris Houlihan [b.1885] of Flatrock, NL, and published in MacEdward Leach And The Songs Of Atlantic Canada © 2004 Memorial University of Newfoundland Folklore and Language Archive (MUNFLA).
