And all the lingoes they speak
Are heathen Greek to me!
So a death on the Ocean Wave,
And a grave in the rolling deep,
When I’m knived or knocked on the head,
Some night, when no watch I keep.
For they all of ’em wear long knives,
And some have got pistols too,
And mine and my mates’ dear lives
Aren’t worth a tobaccy-screw!