11 - Boston Harbour

Words by Traditional
Tune by Traditional

From Boston harbour we set sail
When it was blowing a devil of a gale
With a ring-tail set all avast the mizzen peak
And the Rule Britannia ploughing up the deep

With a big bow wow, tow row row
Fol dee rol dee rye doh day.

Then up comes the skipper from down below
It’s look aloft, and it’s look alow
And it’s look alow and look aloft
And it’s “coil up your ropes, boys, fore and aft”.

With a big bow wow, tow row row
Fol dee rol dee rye doh day.

Then down to his cabin he quickly crawls
And to his poor old steward bawls
“Fix me a drink that will make me cough
For it’s better weather here than it is on top.”

Now we poor sailors are a-standing on the deck
Blasted rain all a-falling down our neck
Not a drop of grog could he to us afford
But he damns our eyes at every other word.

Now there’s one thing that we have to crave
That the captain meets with a watery grave
We’ll throw him down into some dark hole
Where the sharks’ll have his body and the Devil have his soul.