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.