Now I'm leaving old England, the land that I love,
And I'm bound out far across the sea.
Oh I'm bound to Australia, the land of the free,
Where there will be a welcome for me.

So fill up your glasses and drink what you please,
For no matter's the damage, oh, I'll pay;
So be aisy and free whilst you're drinking with me,
Sure, I'm the man you don't meet every day.

Now when I boarded my ship for to go
She was looking all snug and trim;
For I landed aboard with my bag and baggage,
And the mate he told me just where to go.

Now down to Gravesend, oh, soon we did go,
And the customs they came on board,
And inspected us all and called out our names:
There was girls and boys all galore.

They let go of us and we soon sailed away
Down to the Nore and around.
Oh, the Foreland's in sight, oh, it became late at night,
But I was the man they didn't meet every day.

Now we sailed down the Channel of old England, and away
To the Ushant and far across the bay;
Oh, out into the Roaring Forties did stay,
And it's here were our westerly wainds.

Now I'll never forget the look on the Old Man's face
As he roared: 'All stuns'ls we'll set.'
Oh, we're bound to the island of St. Helena,
And around the cape of Good Hope we will get.

Now I ofttimes have wondered just what he meant
When he roared like a bull to the mate;
But the mate understood, and soon they were bound.
We're the men you don't meet every day.

We rounded the Cape with a fair waind abaft,
And soon we were running our easting down.
We were bound to the Semaphore and the southern shores,
And good lord, how the wind did roar.

Now we got round the Heads and into Sydney harbour,
Where the bays are all fine to look upon.
Oh the doctor he came on board and examined us,
And, 'What a fine crowd', the words he did say.

Now I've worked hard in Australia for thirty long years,
And today, sure, I'm homeward bound,
With a nice little fortune for to call me own;
I'm bound home, but not the same way I came out.

Oh I'm sorry I'm leaving you all today,
For I'm homeward bound, don't you see?
But a different way to the way I came out;
I am going home on a steamboat, you see.

Then it's goodbye to one and it's goodbye to all,
For I'm bound home for England's merry country;
And my girl I will find, the one I left behind,
And I'll make her as happy as can be.

I am a bold sea-faring man, I come from everywhere;
Name any point of the compass you like, you're bound to find me there.
Born in a gale in the Roaring Forties, entered in the log -
Sent up aloft to the tipper t'gan's'ls, and christened in navy grog.

All that I own are the clothes on me back and the tools of the sailor's trade;
Me fid and me palm, a few needles, a spike, a knife with a good, keen blade.
I've a hunk in the fo'c'sle, a place on a bench in the galley where I can feed,
And a hook for to hang me old oilskins up. What more does a shellback need ?

Been up in the rigging with Lascars and Swedes when the stormy winds do blow;
Bunted the royals with Arabs and Finns with the boiling sea below;
Hauled on the braces with Friesians, damn near drowned in the same big wave;
Chinamen, Yankees and Scousers and all of 'em bloody hard men to shave.

I've sailed both Atlantics and doubled both Capes more times than I can tell;
Fought the big seas in a parish-rigged barque and froze at Cape Farewell.
I've cursed the calms in the Doldrums when you'd swear the wind was dead;
Laid to off the Horn in a westerly gale that would blow the hair off your head.

I've shipped in high-loaded East Indiamen, been crew on a coastal barge;
Come bowling along on a smart clipper ship when she was running large.
Schooners, lime-juicers and barcatines, they're all well-known to me,
And I've worked as a flying fish sailor dodging the reefs in the China Sea.

To the maggoty beef and weevily bread, I've added me word of abuse;
I've pounded hard biscuit to powder and mixed it with bug-fat and jaggery juice.
With the galley awash for a week on end, I've gore hungry early and late;
Been served with pea-soup that could stand on the poop deck and scare off a blue-nosed mate.

I've signed on in short-handed Yankee ships with masters who know the score;
I've sailed with the drinkers who can't navigate a course past the bar-room door.
I've been with masters who're seamen and know how to treat a sailor well,
And some of the others, the miserable buggers, have made me life a hell.

I know all the boarding-house keepers ashore from Cardiff to Tokyo;
Know all the crimps and waterfront pimps from Riga to Callao.
I've spent me advance at Rasmussen the Dane's, I've lodged with Paddy West,
And I've know the slop-chest to take half of me screw while Big Nellie she took the rest.

I've sailed out of Rio in ballast, I've loaded grain in Frisco bay;
Raced with a cargo of tea from Shanghai on the old Thermopylae;
I've carried nitrates from Iquiqui and whisky out of Leith;
Sailed in the woolrace on old Cutty Sark, with the wind between her teeth.

Goodbye, you square-riggers, your voyaging's done, farewell to the days of sail;
Goodbye, you Cape-Horners and every tall ship that ever defied a gale;
Goodbye to the shellbacks who rode the winds through a world of sea and sky,
Your roving is ended, your seafaring's over; you mariners all, goodbye.

Early in the spring when the snow is all gone,
The Penobscot boys are anxious their moneey for to earn;
they will fit out a fisherman, one hundred tons or nigh,
For the Grand Banks of Newfoundland their luck for to try.

Sailing down the river, the weather being fine,
Our homes and our friends we leave far behind;
We pass by Sable Island, as we've oft done before,
Where the waves dash tremendous on a storm-beaten shore,

Now the vessel is our quarters, the ocean is our home,
And islands, capes and headlands we leave far astern
We run to the eastward for three or four days,
Then round and "sound" upon the western edge

The we run for the shoals and we run for the rocks,
Where the hagduls and Careys, they surround us in flocks;
We let go our best anchor, where the seas run so high,
On the Grand Banks of Newfoundland, the snapeyes for to try.

Early in the morn at the dawn of the day,
We jump into our dories, and saw, saw, away;
The snapeyes steal our bait, and we rip and we rave,
If ever we get home again, we'll give up the trade.

In this way we pass the summer, through dread and through fear
In fog mulls and gales of wind and big ships passing near;
The sometimes run the schooners down and sink them in the deep
The thoughts of such scenery is horrid to repeat.

Now the salt is all wet, but one half a pen,
The colors we will show and the mainsail we bend
Wash her down and scrub the decks, the dories we will stow,
Then heave up the anchor! To the Westward we go!