| 'Tis advertised in Boston, New York, and Buffalo,
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| Five hundred brave Americans a-whaling for to go.
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| Singin' blow ye winds in the morning,
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| Blow ye winds, heigh ho,
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| Clear away your running gear,
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| And blow, blow, blow!
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| They’ll send you to New Bedford town, that famous whaling port,
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| And hand you to some land-sharks there to board and fit you out.
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| They’ll tell you of the clipper ships a-going in and out,
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| And say, you’ll take five hundred sperm before you’re six months out!
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| It’s now we’re out to sea, my boys, the wind comes on to blow,
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| One half the watch is sick on deck, the other half below.
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| And as for the provisions, we don’t get half enough,
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| A little piece of stinkin' beef and a damn small bag of duff.
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| The skipper’s on the quarterdeck a-squintin' at the sails,
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| When up aloft the lookout cries he sights a school of whales!
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| So clear away the boats, me boys, and after him we’ll travel,
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| But if you get too near his flukes, he’ll kick you to the devil!
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| When comes the stowing down, me boys, 't will take both night and day,
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| And you’ll all have 50 cents apiece on the 190th lay!
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| And now we’re homeward bound, me boys, and when we’re through our sailin'
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| A winding glass around we’ll pass and damn this blubber whaling! |