Although my old dad was a tailor,
He sent me to sea as a sailor;
Said he, "My boy, it's a life of joy,
To heave up your slacks on a whaler."
I heaved up my slacks and the vessel heaved too,
I wished I was back home in bed;
I heaved such a heave as I heaved up my slacks,
That I heaved up my - what I just said.

Chorus: And the wind blew hard from the North South West,
The captain cried, "Lads, there's no doubt;
In a tick we shall be on the rocks."
I said, "Good, 'twill stop the ship bobbing about."

Our first mate, by name William Snicker,
Once took on a job as bill-sticker,
He made some paste, then said, "I must taste,
To see if it wants making thicker;"
He'd had seventeen jobs in about seventeen weeks,
At no job for long would he stop,
He climbed up the ladder to stick up a bill,.
But when he got up to the top,

Chorus: The wind blew hard from the North South West,
Off the ladder poor Snicker it blew,
He fell in the paste can, and now his wife says,
"It's the first job he's ever 'stuck' to."

My wife I once took on the ocean
To just try the 'up and down' motion,
I said, "Look here! Can you swim, my dear?"
Said she, "I've not got the least notion,"
Just then a wave rose and the ship gave a lurch
And overboard went my poor wife;
We hadn't a lifebuoy, so I threw a glance
And said, "Hold on to that for your life."

Chorus: And the wind blew hard from the North South West,
Cried I, "We're ten miles from New York,
So as you can't swim, the best thing you can do
Is to sink to the bottom and walk."

Our bo'sun's a bit of a screwer,
His own father to gamble he'd lure,
On deck one day, very strange to say,
He met a young chap who's a brewer.
He bet him five pounds he could brew bitter beer
From 'hops' of no matter what kind,
Now, I wanted money, so I said, "I'll take
That bet on, Bill, if you don't mind."

Chorus: And the wind blew hard from the North South West,
I held the stakes, you might suppose;
Then I gave several 'hops' on the deck and said, "There!
Can you brew bitter beer out of those?"

For this verse I must beg your pardon,
It's all about Eve in the Garden,
In every song it's been sung so long
It's grown whiskers like poor Dolly Varden;
Old Adam went home very hungry one day,
And Eve wasn't much of a cook,
So when he asked her for a sardine on toast
She said, "Where's my cookery book?"

Chorus: And the wind blew hard from the North South West
Said Adam, "It's my firm belief,
Your cookery book has been blown all to bits,
For all I can see, is a leaf."

Written by Worton David & L. St. John - 1908
Composed and performed by Sam Mayo (1875-1938)
From Music Hall Lyrics Collection
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