There was rotten meat and weevly bread

Youd eat it or youd starve to death

I hate to sail on this rotten tub

No grog allowed and rotten grub

The skipper was bad but the mate was worse

Hed blow you down with a spike and a curse

The mate was a bucko an the old man a Turk

The boatswain was a beggar with the middle name o work

The cooks a drunk, he likes to booze

Tween him and the mate theres little to choose

The old man swears and the mate swears, too

The crew all swear and so would you

The sails are furled and the anchor is stowed

And no more around Cape Horn well go

I thought I heard the old man say

You can go ashore and spend your pay

The rats have left, and we the crew

Its time, by Christ, that we did, too

Well make her fast and stow our gear

The gals are a-waiting on the pier