I’ve ate with ye, and bunked with ye, and watched with ye all three,
And better shipmates than ye were I never hope to see.
I’ve seen ye in the wild typhoon beneath a Southern sky,
I’ve seen ye when the Northern gales drove seas to mast-head high,
But summer breeze or winter blow, from Hatt’ras to Cape Race,
I’ve yet to see ye with the sign of fear upon your face.
Oh, swingin’ cross the Bay
Go eighty sail of seiners,
And every blessed one of them a-driving to her rail!
There’s a gale upon the waters and there’s foam upon the sea,