59 - Leave her Johnny

Words: Traditional
Tune: Traditional

This shanty had a famous function as the last song of the voyage. Once the ship was warping in through the locks or sailing down the river to approach the pier head the shanty singer would let rip with this song, finally airing months of pent up frustrations. As such, every time this song was sung would have been different to match the specific anger of the ship.
The verses listed below are not a command, and if you sang them all you'd be here a very long while. Rather, pick and choose your favourites. Or better still, write some yourself about whatever's grinding your gears - the patriarchy, the government, rival pubs, viola players etc.

I thought I heard the Old Man say
Leave her, Johnny, leave her
You can go ashore and take your pay
And it’s time for us to leave her

Leave her, Johnny, leave her
Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her
For the voyage is done and the winds don’t blow
And it’s time for us to leave her

Oh her stern was foul and the voyage was long
Leave her, Johnny, leave her
The winds was bad and the gales was strong
And it’s time for us to leave her

Leave her, Johnny…

Oh the times was hard and the wages low
Leave her, Johnny, leave her
And the grub was bad and the gales did blow
And it’s time for us to leave her

Leave her, Johnny…

Oh the Captain swears and the mate does too
Leave her, Johnny, leave her
If you were there then you’d swear too
And it’s time for us to leave her

Leave her, Johnny…

We swear by rote for want of more,
Leave her, Johnny, leave her
But now we’re through and go to shore
And it’s time for us to leave her

Leave her, Johnny…

It’s pump or drown, the old man said,
Leave her, Johnny, leave her
Or else, by Christ, we’ll all be dead
And it’s time for us to leave her

Leave her, Johnny…

And now it’s time to say goodbye
Leave her, Johnny, leave her
For the old pierhead’s a-drawing nigh
And it’s time for us to leave her

==== SUGGESTED END ====
[some potential other verses listed below if you’d like to extend it]

No more Cape Horn, no more stand by,
We’ll pump 'er out and we’ll leave 'er dry.

And the captain was bad but the mate was worse,
He could blow you down with a sigh and a curse

Oh the wind was foul and the sea ran high,
She shipped it green and none went by.

Oh the wind was foul, all work, no pay,
To Liverpool docks from Frisco Bay.

There’s maggots in the beef and grubs in the bread,
I wish the quartermaster was dead

We’d be better off in a nice clean gaol,
Will all night in and plenty of ale.

She’s poverty-stricken and parish-rigged,
And the bloomin’ crowd is fever-stricked.

Oh the rats are gone and we the crew,
It’s damned high time we left 'er too.