Weary Whaling Grounds

Well, if I had the wings of a gull, my boys
I'd spread them and fly home
I'd leave old Greenland's icy grounds
For of right whales there is none
And the weather is rough, the winds do blow
There's little comfort here
I'd sooner be snug in a Deptford pub
And drinking of strong beer

And the wind does blow
The waves, they crash and roll
The wind does blow
The waves, they crash and roll, they crash

A man must be mad or want money bad
To venture catching of the whales
For we may be drowned when the fish turns around
Or his head be smashed by his tail
Well, the work seems grand to the young greenhand
His heart is high as he goes
In a very short burst he'll as soon hear a curse
As the cry of, "There she blows!"

And the wind does blow
The waves, they crash and roll
The wind does blow
The waves, they crash and roll, they crash

All hands on deck now, for god's sake
Move briskly if you can
Well, he stumbles on deck, so dizzy and sick
For his life, he don't give a damn
High overhead the great flukes spread
The mate gives the whale the iron
And soon, the blood in a purple flood
From the spout-hole comes flying

In the ice and snow
When the whale fish blow
In the green-gray sky
Where the seagulls fly

Well, these trials that we bear for the night, for the year
Til the flying jib points for home
We're supposed to toil to get bonus of the oil
And an equal share of the bone
But we go to the agent to settle for the trip
And we find we've cause to repent
We've slaved away for four years of our life
And earned about three pounds and ten

And the wind does blow
The waves, they crash and roll
The wind does blow
The waves, they crash and roll, they crash and roll