79 - Stormalong JohnWords by Traditional
Tune by Traditional
Stormy’s gone that good old man
Way, stormalong, John!
O, poor old Stormy’s dead and gone,
Way hay, mister. Stormalong John!
We dug his grave with a silver spade,
His shroud of the finest silk was made.
We lowered him with a silver chain,
Our eyes all dim with more than rain.
An able sailor, bold and true,
A good old Bosun to his crew.
He’s moored at last, and furled his sail,
No danger now from wreck or gale.
I wish I was old Stormy’s son,
I’d build me a ship of a thousand ton.
I’d fill her up with New England rum,
And all my shellbacks they would have some.
I’d sail this wide world 'round and 'round,
With plenty of money I would be found.
Old Stormy’s dead and gone to rest,
Of all the sailors he was the best.