Lyrics
LOST AT SEA (Faulkner)
We’ve got beer by the barrel
Fine old wines from the crates below.
The Plimsol Line is rising higher
Another drunk soul’s fallen overboard.
The Captain's sick he’s caught the fever
Bosun Jack lies in the brig.
Slap Back Jim’s hanging on the tiller
He plots our course with another swig.
Blow, blow the cruel wind blows
Off to Van Diemen’s Land we go.
Drink, drink to what will be
To the happiest crew that’s lost at sea
We’ve got rum, we’ve got cider
Take a jar, it’s a proper job.
Davey Jones waits in his locker
Davey Jones you’ll never rob.
Take your fill while you are able
We’re all heading for the brink.
Tinkers, tailors, soldiers, sailors
This old girl she’s going to sink
Blow, blow the cruel wind blows
Off to Van Diemen’s Land we go
Drink, drink to what will be
To the happiest crew that’s lost at sea
Now Mr. Jones was a city slicker
Caught with his fingers in the till.
He’s up the mast with smuggled liquor
To the end he’s thieving still.
I have had my fill of women
That old harlot framed me good.
She shot her husband; left me sleeping
I woke up singing with this crew
Blow, blow the cruel wind blows
Off to Van Diemen’s Land we go
Drink, drink to what will be
To the happiest crew that’s lost at sea