Come all you tonguers and land-loving lubbers
Here's a job cutting-in, and boiling down blubbers
A job for the youngster or old and ailing
The agent will grab any man for shore whaling.

I am paid in soap and sugar and rum
For cutting in whale and boiling down tongue
The agent's fee makes my blood so to boil!
I'll push! him in a hot pot of oil.

Go hang the agent, the company too
They are making a fortune off me and off you
No chance of a passage from out of this place
And the price of living's a blooming disgrace.