  A CRIMP. A DRUNKEN SAILOR. Is there anything as I can do ashore for you When you’ve dropped down the tide?— You can take ’n’ tell Nan I’m goin’ about the world agen ’N’ that the world’s wide. ’N’ tell her that there ain’t no postal service Not down on the blue sea. ’N’ tell her that she’d best not keep her fires alight Nor set up late for me. ’N’ tell her I’ll have forgotten all about her Afore we cross the Line. ’N’ tell her that the dollars of any other sailor-man Is as good red gold as mine. Is there anything as I can do aboard for you Afore the tow-rope’s taut? I’m new to this packet and all the ways of her, ’N’ I don’t know of aught; But I knows as I’m goin’ down to the seas agen ’N’ the seas are salt ’n’ drear; But I knows as all the doin’ as you’re man enough for Won’t make them lager-beer. ’N’ ain’t there nothin’ as I can do ashore for you When you’ve got fair afloat?— You can buy a farm with the dollars as you’ve done me of ’N’ cash my advance-note. Is there anythin’ you’d fancy for your breakfastin’ When you’re home across Mersey Bar?— I wants a red herrin’ n’ a prairie oyster ’N’ a bucket of Three Star, ’N’ prettier ways than Nan—— Well, so-long, Billy, ’n’ a spankin’ heavy pay-day to you! So-long, my fancy man! |
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