Gather round you sailors and listen to me Go down you blood red roses, go down!Go down you blood red roses, go down! Oh you pinks and posies Go down you blood red roses, go down! Them Liverpool girls ain’t got no comb... They comb their hair with a kipper backbone... The wind blows cold around Cape Horn... And there ain’t no girls to keep you warm... When I was young and in my prime... I took them pretty girls nine at a time... But now I’m old and getting grey... I can hardly manage one a day...