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.