The Big Black Trawler
The very best ship that ever I knew,
—Ah-way O, to me O—
Was a big black trawler with a deep-sea crew—
Sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run.
There was one old devil with a broken nose
—Ah-way O, to me O—
He was four score years, as I suppose—
But, sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run.
We was wrecked last March, in a Polar storm
—Ah-way O, to me O—
And we asked the old cripple if his feet was warm—
Sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run.
And the old, old devil (he was ninety at the most)
—Ah-way O, to me O—
Roars, “Ay, warm as a lickle piece of toast”—
So sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run.
“For I soaked my sea-boots and my dungarees
—Ah-way O, to me O—
In the good salt water that the Lord don’t freeze”—
Oh, sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run.