O the times are hard and the wages low,
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Leave her, Johnny, leave her!
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I think it's time for us to go!
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An' it's time for us to leave her!
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Leave her, Johnny, leave her!
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Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!
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For the voyage is done an' the winds don't blow,
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An' it's time for us to leave her!
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O I thought I heard the old man say,
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Tomorrow ye will get your pay!
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It's Liverpool Pat with his tarpaulin hat,
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It's Yankee John the packet rat.
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It's rotten beef an' weev'ly bread,
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It's pump or drown the old man said.
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The wind was foul an' the sea ran high,
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She shipped it green an' none went by.
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We'd be better off in a nice clean gaol,
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With all night in an' plenty o' ale!
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The mate was a bucko an' the old man a turk,
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The bosun was a beggar with the middle name o' work!
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It's growl yer may an' go yer must,
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It matters not whether yer last or furst!
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The cook's a drunk, he likes to booze,
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&'tween him an' the mate there's little to choose!
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I hate to sail on this rotten tub,
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No grog allowed and rotten grub!
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The ship won't steer, or stay, or wear,
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An' so us shellbacks learnt to swear.
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No Liverpool bread, nor rotten crackerhash,
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No dandyfunk, nor cold an' sloppy hash.
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The old man shouts, the pumps stand by,
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Oh, we can never suck her dry.
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Now I thought I hear the old man say,
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Just one more pull an' then belay.
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We swear by rote for want o' more,
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But now we're through so we'll go on shore.
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Leave Her Johnny, Leave Her
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The Woods Band |