| Some say he steers a spectral ship
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| That’s ghostly gray and grand
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| He’s doomed to sail the seven seas and ne’er set foot on land
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| And if you chance to see him
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| You will soon be dead from fright
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| So sailors tell their children on a dark and stormy night
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| Oh forty fathoms deep he walks
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| With rusty keys his locker locks
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| Just like he’s half asleep he stalks
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| Forty fathoms deep
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| Forty fathoms deep he owns
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| Each sleeping sailor’s soggy bones
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| The legend they call Davey Jones
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| At forty fathoms deep
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| Nor east we sail to brimstone head the captain crew and I
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| At 16 knots we fairly flew
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| Beneath a darkening sky
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| Atop the main mast I rode
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| Near 10 stories high
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| When up there blew an icy squall and over board went I
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| Oh forty fathoms deep he walks
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| With rusty keys his locker locks
|
| Just like he’s half asleep he stalks
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| Forty fathoms deep
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| Forty fathoms deep he owns
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| Each sleeping sailor’s soggy bones
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| The legend they call Davey Jones
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| At forty fathoms deep
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| I hold my breath, I say prayer for all the mates who died
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| I turn my back on Davey Jones and cast my fears aside
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| Raise up my head and kick my feet
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| And toward the light I go
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| The heartless jailer left behind the locker far below
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| Oh forty fathoms deep he walks
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| With rusty keys his locker locks
|
| Just like he’s half asleep he stalks
|
| Forty fathoms deep
|
| Forty fathoms deep he owns
|
| Each sleeping sailor’s soggy bones
|
| The legend they call Davey Jones
|
| At forty fathoms deep |