THE COMPLAINT.
There's the Captain, wot is our Commanduer,
There's the Bosun and all the ship's crew,
There's the married as well as the single 'uns,
(Whistle).
Knows wot we pore convicks goes through.
THE [SUFFERING?]
It ain't' cos they don't give us grub enough,
It ain't' cos they don't give us clo'es:
It's a-cos all we light-fingred gentery
(Whistle).
Goes about with a log on our toes.
THE PRAYER.
Oh, had I the wings of a turtle-dove,
Across the broad ocean I'd fly,
Right into the arms of my Policy love
(Whistle).
And on her soft bosum I'd lie!
THE MORRELL.
Now, all you young wi-counts and duchesses,
Take warning by wot I've to say,
And mind all your own wot you touches is,
(Whistle).
Or you'll jine us in Botinny Bay!
Oh!!!
Ri-chooral, ri-chooral, ri-addiday,
Ri-chooral, ri-chooral, iday.