Here's the tender coming, pressing all the men Oh my hinny, what shall we do then? Here's the tender coming, off at Shield's Bar, Here's the tender coming, full of men-o'-war. Hide thee, canny Georgie, hide thyself away Hide thee till the tender makes for Druid's Bay; If they catch thee, Geordie, who's to win our bread? Me an' little Jacky's better off be dead. Here's the tender comin', a-stealin' of me dear; Oh my hinny, they'll press ye out o' here; They will send ye foreign, that is what this means, Here's the tender comin', full o' red marines. Here's the tender comin', pressin' all the men, Oh, dear hinny, what shall we do then? Here's the tender comin', off at Shield's Bar, Here's the tender comin', full o' men-o'-war.

From the coal-mining regions of the Tyne, Britain, laden with pressgangs. Groups of six to eight men, led by a “Yellow Admiral” (worn-out lieutenant) lay in wait for unwitting conscripts.

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