Alas, Alas

Shanty style

We sailed out of Dover, the morn cold and black.
The lads in the riggin’ sing “Alas, alas”.
The captain in his cabin, the first mate down below,
up above an’ at the wheel, “Steady as she goes!”

Where is my mistress? Where is my whore?
Where is my lover? Left ’em all ashore.
Where is my Molly? Where my buxom lass?
Left ’em all ashore. Alas, alas!

The sails caught the westwind, strainin’ the tack.
The lads in the riggin’ sing “Alas, alas”.
We had to leave old Blighty, set sail for foreign shores,
but we’d rather be fuckin’ our lovers and whores.


©2.8.2019 Andrew Robert Chapman

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