I'm the donkey-man of a dingy tramp They launched in‘ Eighty-one, Rickety, old, and leaky too — but some o’ the rivets are shining new Beneath our after-gun.
An’ she an’ meself are off to sea From out o’ the breaker's hands, An’ we laugh to find such an altered game, for devil a thing we found the same When we came off the land.
We used to carry a freight of trash That younger ships would scorn, But now we're running a decent trade — howitzer-shell and hand-grenade, Or best Alberta corn.
We used to sneak an’ smouch along Wi’ rusty side an’ rails, Hoot an’ bellow of liners proud — “Give us the room that we're allowed; Get out o’ the track — the Mails!”
We sometimes met — an’ took their wash — The‘ aughty ships o’ war, An’ we dips to them — an’ they to us — an’ on they went in a tearin’ fuss, But now they count us more.
For now we're “England's Hope and Pride” — The Mercantile Marine,— “Bring us the goods and food we lack, because we're hungry, Merchant Jack”
( As often I have been ). “You're the man to save us now, We look to you to win; Wot'd yer like? A rise o’ pay? We'll give whatever you like to say,
But bring the cargoes in.” An’ here we are in the danger zone, Wi’ escorts all around, Destroyers a-racing to and fro — “We will show you the way to go,
An’ guide you safe an’ sound.” “An’ did you cross in a comfy way, Or did you have to run? An’ is the patch on your hull we see the mark of a bump in‘ Ninety-three,
Or the work of a German gun?” “We'll lead you now, and keep beside, An’ call to all the Fleet, Clear the road and sweep us in — he carries a freight we need to win,
A golden load of wheat.” Yes, we're the hope of England now, And rank wi’ the Navy too; An’ all the papers speak us fair — “Nothing he will not lightly dare,
Nothing he fears to do.” “Be polite to Merchant Jack, Who brings you in the meat, For if he went on a striking lay, you'd have to go on your knees and pray,
With never a bone to eat.” But you can lay your papers down An’ set your fears aside, For we will keep the ocean free — we o’ the clean an’ open sea —
To break the German pride. We wo n't go canny or strike for pay, Or say we need a rest; But you get on wi’ the blinkin’ War — an’ not so much o’ your strikes ashore,
Or givin’ the German best.
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