RATCLIFFE HIGHWAY IN 1842.
You jolly sailors list to me,
I’ve been a fortnight home from sea,
Which time I’ve rambled night and day,
To have a lark on the Highway.
Chorus.
Listen, you jovial sailors gay,
To the rigs of Ratcliffe Highway.
Some lasses their heads will toss,
With bustles as big as a brewer’s horse,
Some wear a cabbage net called veil,
And a boa just like a buffalo’s tail.
I married a lass with her face so red,
She eat three salt herrings and a bullock’s head,
She danced a jig, then began to sing,
Drank a gallon of beer, and a pint of gin.
I have sailed, indeed, all over the world,
And never before my flag unfurled,
In India, China, and Bungo bay,
As the spot we call Ratcliffe Highway.
One night a lady did me drag,
To have a spree at the Lamb and Flag.
There she got drunk, and got in a row,
And sold her shoes at the Barley Mow.
There is eels and shrimps as black as fleas,
And a covey a selling blue grey peas,
There’s ugly Bet, and Dandy Jane,
At the King William in Gravel Lane.
Yes! you’ll see some girls as smart and neat,
As the Dowager Queen of Otaheite,
There’s every colour, indeed ’tis true,
Green, black and purple, yellow and blue.