The wind is free and we're bound for sea.
Ch: Heave away cheerily, ho-oh!
The lassies are waving to you and to me
Ch: As off to southard we go, as off to south'ard we go

Sing, my lads, cheerily,
Heave, my lads, sheerily.
Heave away cheerily, ho-oh!
For gold that we prize, and sunnier skies,
Away to the south'ard we go.

We want sailors bold, who can work for their gold,
And stand a good wetting without catching cold.

The sailor is true to his Sal or his Sue,
As long as he's able to keep them in view.

They're crying, "Come back my dear sailor in blue,
For no one can fill the place vacant by you."

They love us for money, whoever he be,
But when it's all gone, we are shanghaied to sea.

Then sing, "Good-bye Sally, your wonders I'll tell,
But when with another I'll wish you in hell."

From The Making of a Sailor by Frederick Pease Harlow (1928)