A Sailor

When you're topside in the gallants and you're lookin' up at waves, the wind's ascreemin' madness intent on many graves. The mate has said: "Lay aloft!", and Third was on his way, you scrambled up the shrouds windward and laid to right away. Now it's one hand for yourself an' one hand for the ship, oft hangin' on by eyelash to last this windswept trip. We be iron men from Denmark an' seamen everyone. We bring this ship to Scotia, no loss for anyone. Now it's one hand for yourself an' one hand for the ship, oft hangin' on by eyelash to last this windswept trip.