Found this one on the Web:
AWAY YOU SANTEE, MY DEAR ANNIE, OH YOU NEW YORK GIRLS
YOU LOVE US FOR OUR MONEY.
We know the track to Auckland, the light at the Kinsale Head,
We’ve crept close-hauled while the leadsman bawled the depth of the Channel bed.
We’ve panted in the tropic, while the pitch boiled-up on deck,
We saved our hides, little else besides, from an ice-cold, North Sea wreck.
We know the quays of Glasgow, the boom of the lone Azores,
We’ve had our grub from a salt-horse tub condemned by the Navy stores.
We’ve drunk our rum in Portland, we’ve thrashed through the Bering Strait,
We’ve ‘toed the mark’ on a Yankee barque, with a hard-case, Down-East Mate.
We know the streets of Santos, the river at Saigon,
We’ve had a glass with a Chinese lass in houseboat in Canton.
They’ll pay us off in Liverpool then after a spell ashore,
Again we’ll ship on a southern trip in a week or barely more.
So – Goodbye Sal and Lucy, it’s time we were afloat,
With a straw-stuffed bed, an aching head, a knife and an oilskin coat.
Sing: TIME FOR US TO LEAVE HER, sing: BOUND FOR THE RIO GRANDE
As the tug turns back we’ll follow her track for a last long look at land.
As the purple disappears and only the blue is seen,
Commend our bones to Davy Jones, our souls to Fiddler’s Green.