At Shadwell
He was a bad, glad sailor-man,
Tan-ta-ta-ran-tan-tare-o!
You never could find a haler man,
Tan-ta-ta-ran-tan-tare!
All human wickedness he knew.
From Millwall Docks to Pi-chi-lu;
He loved all things that make us gay,
He’d spit his juice ten yards away,
And roundly he’d declare—oh!
“It isn’t so much that I want the beer
As the bloody good company,
Whow!
Bloody good company!”
He loved all creatures—black, brown, white,
Tan-ta-ta-ran-tan-tare-o!
And never a word he’d speak in spite,
Tan-ta-ta-ran-tan-tare!
He knew that we were mortal men
Who sinned and laughed and sinned again;
And never a cruel thing he’d do
At Millwall Docks or Pi-chi-lu;
If you were down he’d make you gay:
He’d spit his juice ten yards away,
And roundly he’d declare—oh!
“It isn’t so much that I want yer beer
As yer bloody good company,
Whow!
Bloody good company!”