The Longest Johns
Fresh out of college with grades straight from Hell
I browsed for a trade at which I could excel
An ad for a ship in need of some manning
Men, sails, and purpose, but lacking a captain
What luck, says I, to find such good fortune
A few white lies later, I ran down the pier
Bought me a coat and a cutlass or two
Jumped on the deck, and I yelled at the crew
Hoist up the thing! Batten down the whatsit!
What's that thing spinning? Somebody should stop it!
Turn hard to port! [That's not port?] Now I've got it!
Trust me, I'm in control!
I can't sing the shanties, it has to be said
And all of that grog just goes right to my head
Whale meat is gross, and I miss a girl's laugh
Five weeks at sea, even Dave seems a catch!
We've hit icy waters, no land to be seen
The food's getting low, and the beer has gone green
There's murmurs of discontent under the deck
If I don't act fast, it could be my neck!
So pull up the charts and those weird gold machines
I see what it says, but no clue what it means!
Just pull on some levers and yank on some chains
Feign a bad back til' we've landed again
Hoist up the thing! Batten down the whatsit!
What's that thing spinning? Somebody should stop it!
Turn hard to port! [This is jail?] Now I've got it!
Trust me, I'm in control!
I’ll Tell Me Ma
Formerly in the Irish Packet
I’ll tell me ma when I go home
The boys won’t leave the girls alone
They pulled my hair, they stole my comb
But that’s alright ’til I go home
She is handsome, she is pretty
She’s the belle of Belfast city
She’s a-courting, one two three
Please won’t you tell me who is she
Albert Mooney says he loves her
All the boys are fighting for her
Knocking on the door, ringing on the bell
Singing, “oh, my true love, are you well?”
Out she comes now, watch her go
Rings on her fingers, and bells on her toes
Old Jenny Murphy says she’ll die
If she don’t get the fellow with the roving eye
Oh the wind and the rain and the hail blow high
And the snow comes a tumbling from the sky
She’s as nice as apple pie
And she’ll get her own lad by-and-by
When she gets a lad of her own
She won’t tell her ma when she comes home
Let them all come as they will
For it’s Albert Mooney she loves still