A Chantey of Labor's Lost

There on the quay sobbed Bones, A.B.,
   And he took me by the hand.
Says he to me, "Ive quit the sea
   An Im huntin a berth on land.
Er doom as come; an the days o rum,
   Salt-orse an tar is over;
For these is the days of the popinjays
   An the end of the deep-sea rover -
                                 Oh,
Them tough ole, rough ole, rollicking lads
   The shell-back, deep-sea rover.

"Theyve finished with me," says Bones, A.B.,
   "For theyve finished with seamanship.
What theyre shippin of late is a milliners mate
   With a housemaids mop on the ip.
But ask im the rig of a barque or a brig,
   Or the toons of the chanteys sung
By a buck he-male in the days of sail
   When me an me mates was young -
                                  Oh,
Them mad ole, bad ole, rollicking days
   When mates an the world was young.

"Before e was born Id rounded the Horn
   Ten times in ships o sail,
Close-reefed an fast in the bellerin blast
   Of the mother-in-law of a gale.
Bare-decked I been, an wrecked I been,
   Mate-hazed, marooned, shanghai-ed.
But shiver me gob, I knoo me job
   In the days when the seas was wide -
                                   Oh,
Them reckless, feckless, rollicking days
   When faith and the seas was wide.

"So Im leavin the sea," says Bones, B.B.,
   "For the sea dont need me now.
An Im shapin a course to valet a orse
   Or coddle a milkin cow.
All that they asks of shipboard tasks
   Is a dood of a dolls-eye weaver;
An Im missin em bad; them mates I ad
   So lovin the sea they leave er -
                                    Oh,
Them tearin, swearin, devil-may-carin,
   Lovable lads wot leave er."