Ye ladies of Ply-mouth, we bid you good-bye,
Roll-oll, roll-oll-oll down!
We will rock you and roll you again by and by,
Walk a-round, me brave boys, and roll down!
And we’ll roll-oll, roll-oll-oll down,
Walk a-round, me brave boys, and roll down!
The anchor’s away and the sails are unfurled,
We’re bound for to sail her halfway ‘round the world,
In the deep Bay of Biscay the seas do run high,
Them poor weary transports they’ll wish they could die,
When the great southern whales on our quarter do spout,
Them poor weary transports, they’ll goggle and shout,
When at last we draw near to Australia’s bold strand,
Them poor weary transports, they’ll long for the land,
Then, sweet ladies of Plymouth, we’ll pay all your rent,
And go roving no more till our money’s all spent,
And when we set sail for the old England’s shore
The poor stranded transports will see them no more
