List of Songs Not on a CD ~ Songs of Mike Kennedy Home Page
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I am a bold seafaring man, I come from everywhere;
Pick any point on the compass you like and you're sure to find me there.
I was born in the winds of the Roaring Forties, entered in the log -
Sent up aloft to the upper t'gan's'ls, and christened in navy grog.
All that I have are the clothes on me back and the tools of the sailor's trade;
Me fid and me palm, a few needles, a spike, and a knife with a good, keen blade.
I've a bunk in the fo'c'sle, a seat on the bench in the galley where I can feed,
And a hook to hang me old oilskins on. What more does a shellback need?
And I've sailed both Atlantics, doubled the Capes more times than I can tell;
I fought the big seas in a parish-rigged barque, I froze off Cape Farewell.
And I've cursed the calms in the Doldrums when you'd swear the winds was dead;
And laid to off Cape Horn in a westerly gale that could blow the hair off your head.
I've ate maggoty beef, weevily bread; I've added me words of abuse;
I've pounded hard biscuit to powder and mixed it with bug-fat and jaggery juice.
And with the galley awash for a week or more, I've gone hungry early and late;
And been served pea-soup that could stand on the poop deck and scare off a blue-nosed mate.
I've signed on short-handed Yankee ships with skippers that knew the score;
And I've sailed with the drinkers who can't navigate a course past the bar-room door.
And I've been with mates who were sailors and know how to treat a matelow well,
And some of them others, them miserable buggers, they made me life a hell.
And I've known all the boarding-house masters ashore from Cardiff to Tokyo;
And I've known all the crimps and the waterfront pimps from Riga to Callao.
I've spent me advance with Rasmussen the Dane, and I've lodged with Paddy West,
And I've known the slop-chest to take half me pay, while Big Nellie, she took the rest.
Goodbye, you square-riggers, your voyaging's done, farewell to the days of sail;
Farewell, you Cape-Horners and every tall ship that ever defied a gale;
And here's to the shellbacks that rode the wind between the sea and sky,
Your seafaring's ended, your voyaging's over; ye mariners all, goodbye.
I am a bold sea-faring man, I come from everywhere;
Name any point of the compass you like, you're bound to find me there.
Born in a gale in the Roaring Forties, entered in the log -
Sent up aloft to the upper t'gan's'ls, and christened in navy grog.
All that I own are the clothes on me back and the tools of the sailor's trade;
Me fid and me palm, a few needles, a spike, a knife with a good, keen blade.
I've a bunk in the fo'c'sle, a place on a bench in the galley where I can feed,
And a hook for to hang me old oilskins up. What more does a shellback need ?
Been up in the rigging with Lascars and Swedes when the stormy winds do blow;
Bunted the royals with Arabs and Finns with the boiling sea below;
Hauled on the braces with Friesians, damn near drowned in the same big wave;
Chinamen, Yankees and Scousers and all of 'em bloody hard men to shave.
I've sailed both Atlantics and doubled both Capes more times than I can tell;
Fought the big seas in a parish-rigged barque and froze at Cape Farewell.
I've cursed the calms in the Doldrums when you'd swear the wind was dead;
Laid to off the Horn in a westerly gale that would blow the hair off your head.
I've shipped in high-loaded East Indiamen, been crew on a coastal barge;
Come bowling along on a smart clipper ship when she was running large.
Schooners, lime-juicers and barcatines, they're all well-known to me,
And I've worked as a flying fish sailor dodging the reefs in the China Sea.
To the maggoty beef and weevily bread, I've added me word of abuse;
I've pounded hard biscuit to powder and mixed it with bug-fat and jaggery juice.
With the galley awash for a week on end, I've gone hungry early and late;
Been served with pea-soup that could stand on the poop deck and scare off a blue-nosed mate.
I've signed on in short-handed Yankee ships with masters who know the score;
I've sailed with the drinkers who can't navigate a course past the bar-room door.
I've been with masters who're seamen and know how to treat a sailor well,
And some of the others, the miserable buggers, have made me life a hell.
I know all the boarding-house keepers ashore from Cardiff to Tokyo;
Know all the crimps and waterfront pimps from Riga to Callao.
I've spent me advance at Rasmussen the Dane's, I've lodged with Paddy West,
And I've know the slop-chest to take half of me screw while Big Nellie she took the rest.
I've sailed out of Rio in ballast, I've loaded grain in Frisco bay;
Raced with a cargo of tea from Shanghai on the old Thermopylae;
I've carried nitrates from Iquiqui and whisky out of Leith;
Sailed in the woolrace on old Cutty Sark, with the wind between her teeth.
Goodbye, you square-riggers, your voyaging's done, farewell to the days of sail;
Goodbye, you Cape-Horners and every tall ship that ever defied a gale;
Goodbye to the shellbacks who rode the winds through a world of sea and sky,
Your roving is ended, your seafaring's over; you mariners all, goodbye.
As sung by Ewan MacColl
Copyright Ewan MacColl
Ewan MacColl, made for the film Before the Mast.
New City Songster 7. Slightly amended by Lou Killen and JNGB (Jon Bartlett).
A shellback is a U.S. Navy term for a sailor who has crossed the equator. Until that ceremony, he is a pollywog. Ewan MacColl wrote this song about his interviews with the sailor Ben Bright Charles Parker in London.