Hill you ho, boys; Let her go, boys;
Bring her head round, now all together.
Hill you ho, boys; Let her go, boys;
Sailing home, home to Mingulay.
What care we though white the Minch is?
What care we for wind or weather?
Let her go boys! ev'ry inch is
Wearing home, home to Mingulay.
Wives are waiting on the bank, or
Looking seaward from the heather;
Pull her round boys! and we'll anchor,
'Ere the sun sets at Mingulay.