The Transports

Sweet ladies of Plymouth, we bid you good-bye,

Roll-oll, roll-oll-oll down!

We will rock you and roll you again by and by,   [beat]

Walk a-round, me brave boys, and roll down!

Chorus

And we will roll-oll, roll-oll-oll down,   [beat]

Walk a-round, me brave boys, and roll down!

The anchor’s aweigh and the sails are unfurled,

We’re bound for to sail her halfway ’round the world,

In the wide Bay of Biscay the seas do run high,

Them poor sickly transports they’ll wish they could die,

When the wild coast of Africa it do appear,

Them poor nervous transports will tremble with fear,

When the Cape of Good Hope it is rounded at last

Them poor lonesome transports they’ll long for the past,

When the great southern whales on our quarter do spout,

Them poor simple transports, they’ll goggle and shout,

When we arrive off Australia’s strand,

Them poor weary transports, they’ll long for the land,

And when we return for old England’s shore,

Them poor stranded transports, we’ll see ’em no more,

Then, sweet ladies of Plymouth, we’ll pay all your rent,

And go roving no more till our money’s all spent,