Boston Harbour

Trad arr. Spiers/Boden.

From Boston Harbour we set sail,
When it was blowing a devil of a gale,
With our rig tails set and our sails trimmed neat,
And a Rule Britannia ploughin’ up the deep.

Chorus:

To me bing pow-wow
Tow-row-row
Foldy-roldy ri-do-day

And it’s up comes the skipper from down below,
And it’s look aloft and it’s look alow,
And it’s look alow and it’s look aloft,
And it’s coil up your ropes lads foreward and aft.

Chorus

Well it’s down to his cabin that he quickly crawls,
And it’s to his poor old steward bawls,
Go and fix me a glass that’ll make me cough,
For it’s better weather here than it is up top.

Chorus

And there’s just one thing that we have to crave,
That our captain meets with a watery grave,
And we’ll throw him down into some dark hole,
Where the shark’ll have his body and the devil have his soul.

Chorus x 2

Foldy-roldy ri-do-day.