Words: Rudyard Kipling Music: Peter Bellamy
(Recorded by Lewis, Pint & Dale on Making Waves)
Heh! Walk her round. Heave, ah, heave her
Over, snatch her over, there, and hold her on the pawl.
Loose all sail, brace your yards aback and full -
Ready jib to pay her off and heave short all!
Well, ah, fare you well; we can stay no more with you, my
Down, set your liquor down and your girl from off your knee;
For the wind has come to say: "You must take me while you may,
If you 'd go to Mother Carey (Walk her round to Mother Carey!)
We're bound to Mother Carey where she feeds her chicks at sea!"
Hey! Walk her round. Break, ah, break it out o' that!
Break our starboard bower out, a-peak, awash and clear!
Port, port she casts, with her harbour mud beneath her foot.
And that's the last of bottom we shall see this year!
Well, ah, fare you well, for we've got to take her out again
Take her out in ballast, riding light and cargo free.
And it's time to clear and quit when the hawser grips the bitt,
So we'll pay you with the foresheet and a promise from the sea!
Hey! Tally on. Aft and walk away with her!
Handsome to the cathead now; oh, tally on the fall!
Stop, seize and fish, easy on the davit-guy.
Up, well up the fluke of her, and inboard haul!
Well, ah, fare you well, for the Channel wind's took hold of
Choking down our voices as we snatch the gaskets free,
And it's blowing up for night, and she's dropping light on light,
And she's snorting and she's snatching for a breath of open sea!
Wheel, full and by; but she'll smell her road alone tonight.
Sick she is and harbour-sick - oh, sick to clear the land!
Roll down to Brest with the old Red Ensign over us -
Carry on and thrash her out with all she'll stand!
Well, ah, fare you well, and it's Ushant slams the door on
Whirling like a windmill through the dirty scud to lee,
Till the last, last flicker goes from the tumbling water-rows,
We're off to Mother Carey (Walk her round to Mother Carey).
We're bound for Mother Carey where she feeds her chicks at sea!