Oh, I met a man down Limehouse way, With a silver tongue he promised pay, He said, “There's coin and rum galore— If ye sign aboard the man-o-war!” Heave ho, lads, trapped we be, The King's good ship owns you and me. No coins will flow, just whip and wave— A coffin sealed on ocean's grave. He showed me gold and promised pay, “Just sign this line, we sail today!” But when I woke, the shore was gone— Left with naught but ocean's song! Heave ho, lads, don't ye know? The King's good ship is set to go! Batten down and shut the door— Were cannon-fodder on the man-o-war! The food is salt, the rum is thin, We scrub the decks and scrape our skin The days onboard are long and cold, With bitter winds that pierce the soul. Heave ho, lads, don't ye know? The King's good ship is set to go! They flog us 'til we reach the shore— We rot on boards of the man-o-war! They sang of glory, sang of pride, But left the truth with the turning tide. For every cheer the crowd once gave, There’s a lad now sleepin’ in a sailor’s grave. So heave ho, lads, if ye dare— But sign not blind in the tavern’s glare! One sip of rum, and then you’re sore— Forever bound to the man-o-war!
