The Dom Pedro
It's of a flash packet, a packet of fame,
She belongs to New York and Dom Pedro's her name,
She's rammed up and jammed up on deck and below,
We're bound for Shanghai in the Dom Ped-er-o,
Ch: Singing down, down, down derry down!
Now the pilot came down and these words he did say,
"Get ready, me boys, the ship's going away."
We braced up our yards and we gave her the slip,
And it's down Boston harbor that packet did rip.
Oh, it's now we are sailing down off of Cape Cod,
Where many a hard flashy packet has trod;
The wind it breezed up and the water did boil,
And at eight bells that night we clewed up our main royal.
And now we are sailing down on to the Line;
We catched all the rain-water, we had plenty of time;
We filled up our casks, as you now plainly see,
And then shaped our course for the port of Shanghai.
Now the captain is aft and he's reading a book;
He'll come for'ard bimeby and he'll growl at the cook;
He will lift up his eyes to the blessings of God
Over a plate of boiled rice and some rusty salt cod.
It's now we're arrived in the port of Shanghai;
We'll go ashore, shipmates, strange faces to see.
We'll lay up aloft and we'll furl all our sails,
Excepting the spanker that hangs in the brails.
Now our cargoʻs discharged and we are taking in;
We're expecting to go back to Boston ag'in;
And when we get there so jolly we'll be,
We'll be twenty merry sports all the way from Shanghai.