'Twas a Friday morn when we set sail
And our ship not far from land,
We there did espy a fair pretty maid,
With a comb and a glass in her hand,
Her hand, her hand,
With a comb and a glass in her hand.
While
the raging seas do roar,
And the stormy winds do blow,
And we jolly sailor boys were skipping up aloft,
And the land lubbers lying down below, below, below,
And the land lubbers lying down below.
Then up spoke the Captain
Of our gallant ship,
And a fine old man was he.
"I have married a wife in fair London town,
But tonight she a widow will be,
Will be, will be.
But tonight she a widow will be."
And then up spoke the little cabin boy,
And a bright-eyed boy was he.
"I've a father and mother in fair Plymouth town,
And this night they will weep for me,
For me, for me,
And this night they will weep for me."
Then three times 'round spun our gallant ship,
And three times 'round spun she.
And the third time 'round they all went down,
As she sank to the bottom of the sea,
The sea, the sea,
As she sank to the bottom of the sea.