I'M the donkey-man of a dingy tramp
They launched in 'Eighty-one,
Rickety, old, and leaky too—but some o' the rivets are shining new
Beneath our after-gun.
An' she an' meself are off to sea
From out o' the breaker's hands,
An' we laugh to find such an altered game, for devil a thing we found the same
When we came off the land.
We used to carry a freight of trash
That younger ships would scorn,