We left our sweethearts and our wives
A-weeping on the pier.
Cheer up, my dears, we soon shall return
For it's only half a year.

With tarry dress we reached Stromness
Where we do go ashore.
With whalermen so scarce and the water even less,
We'll have to take on more.

Now dark and dreary grows the night
And the stars begin to burn,
With the chasing of the whale and the trying of the oil,
And it seems like we'll never return.

Our six-month being done, we tie up again,
And the lads all go ashore,
With plenty of brass and a bonny bonny lass
For to make them ravers roar.

To Greenland's coast we'll drink a toast,
And to them we love so dear,
And across the icy main to the whaling grounds again
We'll take a trip next year.