 | Songs of the sea and lays of the land |  |
19
DAVY JONES
Down in the sea among sand and stones,
There lives the old fellow called Davy Jones.
There lives the old fellow called Davy Jones.
When storms come up he sighs and groans,
And that is the singing of Davy Jones.
And that is the singing of Davy Jones.
His chest is full of dead men's bones,
And that is the locker of Davy Jones.
And that is the locker of Davy Jones.
Davy is Welsh you may hear by his tones,
For a regular Welsher is Davy Jones.
For a regular Welsher is Davy Jones.
20
Whenever a fish gets drowned, he moans,
So tender-hearted is Davy Jones.
So tender-hearted is Davy Jones.
Thousands of ships the old man owns,
But none go a-sailing for Davy Jones.
But none go a-sailing for Davy Jones.
“Well—since you talk o' the bottom of the sea,”
Said Enoch Doolittle of Salem town,
“I know a yarn that beats you full and free,
Because, d'ye know, it takes you deeper down,
And if you're taken down—of course you're beat.”
“That's so,” cried all, “so now your yarn repeat!”
“All right,” quoth Doolittle, “I'll serve it hot,
Because, d'ye see, it's called The Devil's Pot.
But 'fore I dive into the salty brine,
Give me a gill of white New England wine!
Take one all round to benefit the pub.
Now for the bottom of the pickle tub.”
Said Enoch Doolittle of Salem town,
“I know a yarn that beats you full and free,
Because, d'ye know, it takes you deeper down,
And if you're taken down—of course you're beat.”
“That's so,” cried all, “so now your yarn repeat!”
“All right,” quoth Doolittle, “I'll serve it hot,
Because, d'ye see, it's called The Devil's Pot.
But 'fore I dive into the salty brine,
Give me a gill of white New England wine!
Take one all round to benefit the pub.
Now for the bottom of the pickle tub.”
| Songs of the sea and lays of the land | |