A poor old man came a-riding by And we say so! And we hope so Says I, “Old man, your horse will die” Oh, poor old horse! And if he dies we’ll tan his hide But if he lives we’ll ride him again For a month a rotten life we’ve led While you’ve lain in your feather bed But now that month is up, old Turk Get up, you swine, and look for work Get up, you swine, and look for graft While we lays on, and yanks you aft And after work and sore abuse We’ll salt you down for sailor’s use He’s as dead as a nail in the lamproom door And he won’t come hazing us no more We’ll hoist him up to the main yardarm And drop him down to the bottom of the sea We’ll sink him down with a long, long roll Where the sharks ‘ll have his body, and the devil have his soul I thought I heard the Old Man say Just one more pull and then belay