Now tell me this, my sailor boy,
As sure as you love your wine,
Oh did you ever see a ship
As trim as that girl of mine?
And you who’ve been in many a gale,
And stood on many a deck;
Oh did you ever see a sail
As white as my true love’s neck?
And you who have been where the red rose blows
In many a Southern place,
Oh did you ever see a rose
Like those in my sweetheart’s face?
Here’s a cheer for the women with jet black curls,
Of Spain or of Portugal!
And seven for the Yankee and English girls,
The prettiest of them all!
“Wall now,” cried Jones, “I railly must admit,
Them Spanish songs of yourn hev taste and wit;
But as I’m gettin’ hungry, what is upper
In me just now is that I want my supper;
And while it’s cookin’, till they bring the tub,
I’ll sing you how a sailor lost his grub.”