4 May 2010 0 Comments

Come All You Toungers

Come all you tonguers and land-loving lubbers
Here’s a  job cutting-in, and boiling down blubbers
A job for the youngster or old and ailing
The agent will grab any man for shore whaling

    I am paid in soap and sugar and rum
    For cutting in whale and boiling down tongue
    The  agent’s fee makes my blood so to boil!
    I’ll push! him in a hot pot of oil.

    Go hang the agent, the company too
    They are making a fortune off me and off you
    No chance of a passage from out of this place
    And the price of living’s a blooming disgrace

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