Shanties, Sea Songs, and all that kind of stuff.
Miscellany
Things about shanties. Oddities and extras.
The Definitive Leave Her Johnny, so far
The first bit of miscellany are all the verses I have collected for Leave Her Johnny Leave Her. Some are similar, but I've included them anyway. There's 40 plus, including a whole version with different words.
Chorus: Leave her, Johnny, leave her!
Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!
For the voyage is long and the winds don't blow
And it's time for us to leave her.
I thought I heard the Old Man say
Tomorrow you will get your pay,
Oh the times was hard and the wages low
And the grub was bad and the gales did blow
Oh the wind was foul, all work, no pay,
To Liverpool docks from Frisco Bay.
Oh, the times were hard and the wages are low,
I guess it's time for us to go,
Oh, the wind was foul and the sea ran high
She shipped it green and none went by.
She would not wear and she would not stay
She shipped great seas both night and day
Oh her stern was foul and the voyage was long
The winds was bad and the gales was strong
Oh, she would neither win nor wear,
She's parted all her running gear.
I hate to sail on this rotten tub.
No grog allowed and rotten grub.
She's poverty-stricken and parish-rigged,
And the bloomin' crowd is fever-stricked
Oh, I pray that I shall never see
A hungry ship the likes of she.
“It's pump or drown,” the old man said,
“It's pump ye whores or we'll all be dead.”
We was made to pump all night and day,
And we half-dead had bugger-all to say.
And a dollar a day is a Jack Shite's pay
When it's pump all night and it's work all day
The starboard pump is like the crew
It's all worn out and will not do
The old man shouts, the pumps stand by
Oh, we can never suck her dry
It's rotten beef and weevil-y bread,
It was pump or drown the old man said
It was rotten meat and moldy bread
You'd eat it or you'd starve to death
Mahogany beef and weevil bread,
We wish old Leatherface was dead.
No Liverpool bread, nor rotten cracker hash
No dandy funk, nor cold and sloppy hash
And the captain was bad but the mate was worse,
He could blow you down with a sigh and a curse
The old man swears, and the mate swears too,
The crew all swear, and so would you
The mate was a bucco and the old man was a Turk.
And the boatswain was a begger with a middle name of work
The cook's a drunk, he likes to booze
'tween him and the mate there's a little to choose
No more Cape Horn, no more stand by,
We'll pump 'er out and we'll leave 'er dry.
Beware these packet ships, I say!
They'll steal your stores and your clothes away
There's Liverpool Pat in his tarpaulin hat
And Yankee John the pocket rat
Oh the rats are gone and we the crew,
It's damned high time we left 'er too.
We'd be better off in a nice clean gaol,
Will all night in and plenty of ale.
It’s growl you may but go you must:
It matters not if last or first.
I’m a-getting’ thin and a-growin’ sad
Since first I joined this woodenclad.
And we'll leave her tight and we'll leave her trim
And heave the hungry packet in
And now it's time to say goodbye
For the old pierhead's a-drawing nigh
We swear by rote for want of more.
But now we're through so we'll go on shore.
Oh the work was hard and the wages low,
But now once more ashore we'll go,
The sails all furled, our work is done,
and now ashore we'll take our rum
Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her with a grin
For the old pierhead's a-drawing nigh
Well, it's time for us to say goodbye
For now those pumps are all pumped dry
Well I thought I heard the old man say,
“Just one suck, oh! And then belay.”
Oh, sing that we boys will never be
In a hungry bitch, the likes of she
Leave her, Johnny, ye can leave her like a man,
Oh, leave her, Johnny, oh, leave her while yer can.
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A hundred miles from the Longship's Light,
She's blowin' up for a dirty night –
She's down by the head an' settlin' fast –
Her name an' number's up at last,
Now it isn't the sea she sailed so long:
It isn't the wind that's used her wrong,
We've pumped her out with a right good will,
A day an' a night an' she's sinkin' still,
She's smashed above an' stove below,
Now there's nothing to do but roll an' go,
A hundred miles from the Longship's Light –
She's blowin' up for a dirty night
Original poem by Cicely Fox Smith,
From RHYMES OF THE RED ENSIGN, edited by Cicely Fox Smith,
pub. by Hodder and Stoghton ｩ 1919
As sung by Bob Zentz on CLOSE HAULED ON THE WIND OF A DREAM, 2004
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Blood Red Roses
Another song with many verses. I'm sure there are more out there, The stanzas are call and response, verse, chorus, verse, chorus, verse chorus. The chorus is sung in one of several ways. Go Down, Get Down, Ged Down, Come Down etc. and follow the same wording throughout.
Come Down You Roses is given first, as it is possibly the older version.
COME DOWN YOU ROSES
Come sailors listen unto me:
Chorus: Come down you bunch of roses, come down
A lovely song I'll sing to thee.
Come down, you bunch of roses, come down,
Oh, you pinks and posies,
Come down, you red, red roses, come down.
A whale is bigger than a mouse;
A sailor's lower than a louse.
The cook he rolled out all the grub:
One split pea in a ten-pound tub.
In eighteen hundred and fifty-three
We set sail for the Southern Sea.
In eighteen hundred and fifty-five
I was breathing but not alive.
In eighteen hundred and fifty-seven
We sailed up to the gates of Heaven.
Saint Peter would not let us in.
He sent us back to earth again.
All this is true that I do tell.
The ship we're on's a livin' Hell.
The captain's covered o'er with fur;
Has grown a tail like Lucifer.
BLOOD RED ROSES
Our boots and clothes are all in pawn
Go down Ye blood red roses. Go down
And its flamin’ drafty ’round
Go down Ye blood red roses. Go down
Oh, you pinks and posies,
Go down, you blood red roses, Go down.
My dear old mother said to me,
My dearest son, come home from sea.
It’s ’round Cape Horn we all must go
‘Round Cape Horn in the frost and snow.
You’ve got your advance, and to sea you’ll go
To chase them whales through the frost and snow.
It’s ’round Cape Horn you’ve got to go,
For that is where them whalefish blow.
It’s growl you may, but go you must,
If you growl too much your head they’ll bust.
Just one more pull and that will do
For we’re the boys to kick her through
Our good old captain said to me
We'll plunder to a high degree
On no-man's land we'll dance around
We'll drive the roses underground
When we reach shore we’ll dance around,
We’ll drive them roses underground.
Come sailors listen unto me,
Come down, you bunch of roses, come down,
A lovely song I'll sing to thee,
Come down, you bunch of roses, come down,
Oh,you pinks and posies
Come down, you bunch of roses come down.
Oh me bonny bunch of roses oh
It’s time for us to roll and go
Them Spanish girls are pullin’ strong
Hang down me boys it won’t take long
It’s ’round Cape Horn you’ve got to go,
For that is where them whalefish blow
It’s round Cape Horn we’ve got to sail,
For sunken ships will tell no tales.
Our captain he has set us down
And he has sailed for Auckland town
Well the captain he's left us out of grog
And just once looked in a ten pound tug
Well the captain he's come over with fear
He's grown him a tail like Lucifer
Topmen up, the mate do roar,
It's lay aloft ye lazy whore,.
So, rock and shake her is the cry,
The bleedin' topmast sheave is dry.
Come all you young fellows and listen to me
Never take a pretty girl on your knee
When I was a young man in my prime
I could take them pretty girls nine at a time
But now I'm old and getting grey
I can only manage two a day
Them Liverpool girls don't wear no coats
They comb their hair with a kipper backbone
Below is an adaptation of the lyrics sung by Rod Stewart. I've altered them so they fit the traditional tune.
Sailing out of Boston one hundred days at sea
On the good ship Bonadventure,'whaling men are we
Sail for the Cape Horn, where the seas are ice
The wind bites through you like starving lice
Our ship is wood but our men are steel
Step outa line the bosuns fist you'll feel
Ah, the captain is a mountain of a man
The rest of us are misfits of the land
We'll be home with stories to be told
With a ship load of whale oil and a pocket of gold
Ahoy me boys there she blows,
Lower the boats and off you go
Hold your nerve she's a mighty whale
She'll sink the boat with a flick of her tail
Roll Alabama Roll
A longer version with slightly different words and tune.
When the Alabama’s keel was laid
Chorus: Roll Alabama Roll
It was in the city of Birkenhead
Chorus: Roll Alabama Roll
The called her number oh two nine two
Chorus: Roll Alabama Roll
In honour of the merchants of Liverpool
Chorus: Roll Alabama Roll
Chorus: Roll Alaba ama, Roll Alabama Rooooolll
Roll Alaba ama, Roll Alabama Roll.
Down the Mersey river she made her way
Enrica she was named that day
To the Western Isles she made her run
To be fitted out with shot and gun.
It was in the August of sixty two
The Alabama was named, took on her crew.
Through sixty two and sixty four
She sank sixty yankee ships or more
It wae early on a summers day
In Cherbourgs port the Alabama lay.
It was there she met the Kearsarge
Captain John Winslow was in charge;
Outside the three mile limit they fought
With navy steel and British shot.
Til a shot from the forward pivot that day
Took the Alabama’s stern away
The British crew far away did sail
Leaving their vessels watery grave.
To England they did swiftly go
Captain Semmes to the sea his sword did throw.
In the August of eighteen sixty four,
The Alabama sunk to the ocean floor
And there she lays a broken wreck
Holes in her hull and holes in her deck.
Chorus: Roll Alaba ama, Roll Alabama RooooolllRoll Alaba ama, Roll Alabama Roll.