As tall blue seas were rollin’ long the painted oaken side
and the mate’s voice was roarin’ ‘gainst the loudly screaming gale.
The men were quickly bracing for a foaming salty ride
that would make a poor landlubber groan and look deathly pale.

The pitch fixed the trickles of the salty blue from the cracks
and the stew was swaying o’er the coal fire in the galley.
The watch stood by sternly as the men laid in swinging racks
until four bells awoke them to their next turn of duty.

Twas a life of a sailor ‘neath the tall mast of the main
where all was adventure till the next port of call was found
They’d sit at a table telling those old salty tales again
and of those busty ladies they would gleefully expound

The ladies would come prancin, across that cold sawdust floor
certain to take a chance in a lone rendezvous for two
Hips swayin in their dancin, eyes saying let us explore.
The youngest man a lad of nineteen tender years would do.

With courage he would saunter to the squirming midst of them
as loud squeals were emitted once the chosen prize was caught
The candles were flickering so the lights were way down dim
as the lad was led away, a sweet treat the girls had sought.

The morning brought them staggering back to their waiting ship
to main the rail, unfurl the sail and lift the mooring line.
While onshore the ladies waved till once again their long trip
would bring them home to brag and boast of liberty so fine.