Leave Her, Johnny, Leave Her

Oh the times was hard and the wages low
Leave her, Johnny, leave her
And the grub was bad and the gales did blow
And it’s time for us to leave her

Leave her, Johnny, leave her
Leave her, Johnny, leave her
For the voyage is done and the winds do blow
And it’s time for us to leave her

O I thought I heard the old man say,
Tomorrow ye will get your pay!

It’s Liverpool Pat with his tarpaulin hat,
It’s Yankee John the packet rat.

Oh, the skipper was bad, but the mate was worse.
He’d blow you down with a spike and a curse

The cook’s a drunk, he likes to booze,
And ‘tween him an’ the mate there’s little to choose!

It’s growl yer may an’ go yer must,
It matters not whether yer last or first!

It was rotten meat and moldy bread,
You’d eat it or you’d starve to death

It’s rotten beef an’ weev’ly bread,
It’s pump or drown the old man said.

The wind was foul an’ the sea ran high,
She shipped it green an’ none went by.

I hate to sail on this rotten tub,
No grog allowed and rotten grub!

The ship won’t steer, or stay, or wear,
An’ so us shellbacks learnt to swear.

The old man shouts, the pumps stand by,
Oh, we can never suck her dry.

Now I thought I hear the old man say,
Just one more pull an’ then belay.

We swear by rote for want o’ more,
But now we’re through so we’ll go on shore