| I grew up in the scantling yards of Wheeling West Virginia
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| A wheelhouse cub looking for an open door
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| In the packet ways a Sweeney wed the keel of my Bonita
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| Just two months from her timbers til she moored
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| I paid the fare in billet on her maiden voyage to Vicksburg
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| And talked my way to hand the tiller on the course
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| In her planks I carved a notch and sealed the vow «Be my Bonita»
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| And her dowry was my life between the shores
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| I was born with rouging ways, and she steered me like a woman
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| From the port calls and the bawds that lead me stray
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| The calliope serenades, made the old towns come running
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| And the boys would gamble shards to pull her chains
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| The striker’s boast would fain me loss, about the wrecks the shoals were keeping
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| And how the old girl’s got poor Billy’s ransom saved
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| On the lake at Bistineau, she set the wharf at Dixie
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| With a thousand bales of cotton on her main
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| As the great raft disappeared, the watermark went sinking
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| And she was stuck right hard, a listing on the bank
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| With the furnace still a blaze, I stood my last upon her
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| Then climbed the prow and took a landsman’s trade
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| «A derelict now Milady» said the watch log I’ve concorded
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| «Have the bosun sound us eight bells for the change»
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| Cause I was born with rouging ways, and she steered me like a woman
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| From the port calls and the bawds that lead me stray
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| The calliope serenades, made the old towns come running
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| And the boys would gamble shards to pull her chains
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| And I would take to wider walks, so the gin I stopped a drinking
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| At three scores aloft this crooked frame
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| The striker’s boast would fain me loss, about the wrecks the shoals were keeping
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| And how the old girl’s got poor Billy’s ransom saved |