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My name it is John Thompson and a
seafarer am I
I started as a cabin boy when I was but
knee-high
And I reckon this will be my life until
the day I die
For it's water that will be the death
of me
Chorus
Let the wind blow up and down
From the River Hull to the whaling
ground
In the Black Boy I'll be found
For I do love strong beer
I've worked on every kind of ship
from
Billy Boy to Bark
And I've sailed with lascars,
packet-rats and many a chis'lling shark
And if I hadn't dodged the press gangs
that were waiting in the dark
Those Frenchies would have been the
death of me
As first mate on a whaler I was
there
at Baffin Fair
When we got drunk and Tommy Hunt got
eaten by a bear
And I tell you, I'll be buggered if
ever I go back there
For the whaling lark will be the death
of me
Now as master of a sloop I run
from
Hull to Sheffield town
And the Dunn takes oil and leather up
and coal and steel goods down
But at either end I got so drunk it's a
blessing I'm not drowned
For this river trade will be the death
of me
One day I met a bonny lass while
as I
was docked in Thorne
But I confess I'd had a few upon our
wedding morn
Now whenever I come home I swear
another brat's been born
And their hungry mouths will be the
death of me
Now the Dunn's tied up at Chapel
Staith
and I'm in t'Black Boy Inn
Where I've spent a pleasant evening
drinking George North's beer and gin
But he says I shouldn't go outside for
an easterly's blown in
And those Humber gales will be the
death of me
But I reckon that I'd best be off
before me legs give in
So I step out into High Street in this
filthy wind and rain
And I know that it won't be too long
before I'm back again
Oh, that Black Boy beer will be the
death of me!
Yes, the Old Black Boy is holy
ground
For those that like strong beer
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