| Me bully boys of Liverpool
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| And I’ll have you all beware
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| When you sail on them packet ships
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| No dungaree jackets wear
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| But have a big monkey jacket
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| All ready to your hand
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| For there blows some cold nor’westers
|
| On the banks of Newfoundland
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| We’ll scrape her and we’ll scrub her
|
| With holy stone and sand
|
| For there blows some cold nor’westers
|
| On the banks of Newfoundland
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| We had Jack Lynch from Ballynahinch
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| Mike Murphy and some more
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| And I tell you boys, they suffered like hell
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| On the way to Baltimore
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| They pawned their gear in Liverpool
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| And sailed as they did stand
|
| But there blow some cold nor’westers
|
| On the banks of Newfoundland
|
| We’ll scrape her and we’ll scrub her
|
| With holy stone and sand
|
| For there blows some cold nor’westers
|
| On the banks of Newfoundland
|
| Now the mate he did stand on the fo’c’sle head
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| And loudly he did roar
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| Come rattle her in me lucky lads
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| You’re bound for America’s shore
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| Come wipe the blood off the dead man’s face
|
| And haul or you’ll be damned
|
| For there blow some cold nor’westers
|
| On the banks of Newfoundland
|
| We’ll scrape her and we’ll scrub her
|
| With holy stone and sand
|
| For there blows some cold nor’westers
|
| On the banks of Newfoundland
|
| So now we’re off the hook me boys
|
| And the land is white with snow
|
| And soon we’ll see the pay table
|
| And we’ll spend the night below
|
| And on the docks, comin down in flocks
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| Well, those pretty girls they will say
|
| It’s snugger with me than out on the sea
|
| On the banks of Newfoundland
|
| We’ll scrape her and we’ll scrub her
|
| With holy stone and sand
|
| For there blows some cold nor’westers
|
| On the banks of Newfoundland |