B low Ye Winds
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Tis advertised in Boston, New York and Buffalo,
Five hundred brave sailor men, a-whaling for to go, singing
Blow, ye winds in the morning, And blow, ye winds, high-o!
And haul away your running gear, And blow, ye winds, high-o!
They tell you of the clipper-ships-a-going in and out,
And say you'll take five hundred whale before you're six months out.
They send you to New Bedord town, that famous whaling port,
And give you to some land-sharks to board and fit you out.
Next comes the running rigging, which you're all supposed to know;
'Tis "Lay aloft, you son-of-a-gun, or overboard you will go!"
The Skipper's on the quarter-deck a-squinting at the sails,
When up aloft the lookout sights a mighty school of whales.
"Now clear away the boats, me boys, and after him we'll travel,
But if you get too near his fluke, he'll kick you to the devil!"
When we get home, our ship made fast, and we get through our sailin'. A brimmin' glass around we'll pass and damn this blubber whalin'.