At a quarter to arf past nine.
When I comes to look over the crew,
Fer the Capting leaves all to me,
I finds as tough a lot o’ swabs
As ever put to sea.
The cook were a ginger-colored duck,
Hailin’ frum Bosting taown,
He sartinly cud cook a bit
An’ he cud swar me down.
He wuz tall an’ lanky an’ thin,