ROW BULLIES ROW

The boardinghouse masters came aboard in a trice A shouting and a promising all that was nice Til one old crib took a liking to me Says he you’re a fool, lad, to follow the sea

And it’s row, row bullies row

Says he there’s a job as is waiting for you With lashings of liquor and beggar-all to do Says he what you say lad, will you? – or two? Says I you old bastard, I’m damned if I do

And it’s row, row bullies row

But the best of intentions they never goes far After thirty two days at the door of the bar I tossed off me liquor and what do you think That rotten old bastard had doctored me drink

And it’s row, row bullies row

Next I remember I woke in the morn On a the three skysail yarder bound south round Cape Horn With an old set of oilskins and two pair of socks And an IOU nailed to the lid of my box

And it’s row, row bullies row

Honeyed rum, a whiff of almond, and a hint of something suspiciously soporific.