
Salty Dick Rises Again: More Uncensored Sailor Songs
Track List
- Shenandoah
- Hi Randy-Dandy Oh
- Able Brown The Sailor
- Pump Away
- Billy Boy
- The Good Ship Venus
- Jinny Keep Yer Asshole Warm
- The Swab’s Alphabet Song
- Reefy Tayckle
- She Rolled And She Tumbled
- Cheerily Man
- Can’t Ye Dance The Polka?
- The Mate’s Asshole
- Oysterman
- Gals O’ Chile
- Condoms Johnny
- Johnny Come Down To Hilo, p. 195
- Saltpetre Shanty
- Isle of Lesbos
- Flash Nell
- Maggie May
- Here’s to the Sea Hag
- Captain Coffin’s Widow’s Dildo
Shenandoah
Oh, Shenandoah, I love your daughter,
Away, you rolling river.
Wish I was a-fucking of the Old Man’s daughter,
And away we’re bound to go
Across the wide Missoura.
When I was a young man in me prime,
Away…
I’d fuck [shag] them pretty [yeller] gals two at a time.
And away…
“Foretops’l halyards”, the mate [he] will roar,
“Lay aloft smartly, you son-of-a-whore!”
Them little [brown] gals ain’t got no drawers,
They cover their things with bits of straws,
Them Liverpool gals I do adore,
But I’d sooner shag a Bowery [little black] whore.
This is from Hugill’s collection, Sailing Ship Shanties. It was used at the capstan when raising the anchor, and dates to the mid-19th century.
“Probably the finest sea chantey tune, with its wild, thrilling refrains. The stanzas, according to Hugill, are interchangeable with “SALLY BROWN”. Joanna Colcord [gives an] expurgated version, though she was herself once the [Old Man’s] daughter on her father’s ship.”
Hi Randy-Dandy Oh
This chantey was found in a small pamphlet within the Legman archive, titled A Collection of Sea Songs and Ditties from the stores of Dave E. Jones, and dated to 1929. It is closely related to one of Hugill’s chanteys, Bollocky Randy Dandy O, but lacks the grand chorus of that chantey. Therefore, it was either used as a halyard song, or Dave E. Jones left out the grand chorus.
As I went through the clover fields
Hi randy-dandy oh!
I saw two whores kick up their heels.
Galloping, ralloping dandy oh!
One named Sal, the other named Sue,
Said I to Sue, “I’ll sock it to you.”
I laid her down behind a stump,
And made her ass go bumpity-bump.
A week went by and all was well,
And then my prick began to swell.
Then to the doctor I did go
My prick and bollicks for to show.
“Young man”, said he, “you’re in a fix,
You’ll lose your life or half your prick.”
I thought ten inches I could lose,
If the other twelve he would excuse.
He laid it out upon a block
And cut ten inches off my cock.
So now I’m cured and well again,
Bring on your whores, we’ll screw ‘em again!
Able Brown The Sailor
In Hugill’s book Shanties From The Seven Seas he writes of this song, “Next is the rather notorious Abel Brown the Sailor. It was used for ‘long drags’ at t’gallant halyards and also for hand-over-hand hauling. I learnt this shanty on my first voyage to sea and I must say that it is entirely obscene. ’Abel Brown’ is probably the personification of all sailing ship A.B.’s or Able-Bodied Seamen.”
What I sing on the recording is one version from the large family of the song popularly known as Barnacle Bill The Sailor or Bollocky Bill. Hugill states in his notes to the long-lost Sailing Ship Shanties manuscript that “strangely enough sailors never sang Bollocky Bill.” I learned my version from a YouTube video by Gibb Schreffler.
“Where am I going to sleep tonight?” says Able Brown the sailor.
“Where am I going to sleep tonight?” says Able Brown the sailor.
“You can sleep upon the mat,” says the fair young maiden.
“You can sleep upon the mat,” says the fair young maiden.
“To hell with the mat, I can’t fuck that!” says Able Brown the sailor.
“To hell with the mat, I can’t fuck that!” says Able Brown the sailor.
“You can sleep upon the stair,” says the fair young maiden.
“You can sleep upon the stair,” says the fair young maiden.
“Bugger the stair, we can’t fuck there!” says Able Brown the sailor.
“You can sleep upon my bed,” says the fair young maiden.
“There’s only room in the bed for one!” says Able Brown the sailor.
“You can sleep between my thighs,” says the fair young maiden.
“Between your thighs, that’s just my size!” says Able Brown the sailor.
“You can sleep on my pin cushion,” says the fair young maiden.
“I’ve got a pin that’ll just go in!” says Able Brown the sailor.
“I feel it rising between my thighs,” says the fair young maiden.
“Into your quim, now, up to the rim!” says Able Brown the sailor.
“When shall I have your pin again?” says the fair young maiden.
“As soon as I can make it rise!” says Able Brown the sailor.
“How can I help it rise again?” says the fair young maiden.
“Tickle my balls and scratch my hole!” says Able Brown the sailor.
“Tickle my balls and scratch my hole!” says Able Brown the sailor.
In Legman’s notes on this song there is a verse with a wonderful last word by the fair young maiden:
“What if I should have a child?” said the fair young maiden…
“Strangle the bastard as soon as it’s born,” said Bollicky Bill the Sailor…
“That I shall do, but first I’ll fix you! You bloody fucking sailor!”
Pump Away
The blue-penciled version in Hugill’s book gives plenty of clues to reconstruct a set a lyrics that approximate the original ones. So I wrote these verses following those clues, and making it a more sex-positive song than may have existed originally. The tune is that given in the book.
Oh, once I had a girl, had a girl, had a girl,
Oh, once I had a girl, had a girl, had a girl,
Oh, once I had a girl, she was the randiest in the world.
Put your belly next to mine and pump away, pump away!
Put your belly next to mine and pump away!
When I came home from sea, home from sea, home from sea,
When I came home from sea, home from sea, home from sea,
When I came home from sea she was horny as could be.
Put your belly next to mine and pump away, pump away!
Put your belly next to mine and pump away!
Well, I gave her inches one…
Well, I gave her inches one and she said, “Let’s have some fun!”
Refrain
Well, I gave her inches two…
Well, I gave her inches two and she said, “Please shove it thru!”
Refrain
Well, I gave her inches three…
Well, I gave her inches three; she said, “Fuck me fast and free!”
Refrain
Well, I gave her inches four…
Well, I gave her inches four; she said, “I hope you have some more!”
Refrain
Well, I gave her inches five…
Well, I gave her inches five; she said, “My clit is coming alive!”
Refrain
Well, I gave her inches six…
Well, I gave her inches six and she said, “God, I love pricks!”
Refrain
Well, I gave her inches seven…
Well, I gave her inches seven; she said, “I hope you’ve got eleven!”
Refrain
Well, I gave her inches eight…
Well, I gave her inches eight and she said, “Increase the rate!”
Refrain
Well, I gave her inches nine…
Well, I gave her inches nine and she said, “Oh God, I’m dyin’!”
Refrain
Well, I gave her inches ten…
Well, I gave her inches ten; she cried, “Again, again, AGAIN!!”
Refrain
Billy Boy
I can’t think of any other nursery rhymes that got used as bawdy sea chanteys.
Where have you been all the night, Billy boy, Billy boy,
Where have you been all the night my Billy boy?
I’ve been with my Nancy Grey, ‘cause I shag her night and day,
And my Nancy tickles my fancy, oh my charming Billy boy.
Are you fit to screw her more, Billy boy, Billy boy,
Are you fit to screw her more, my Billy boy?
I’m as fit to screw her more, as I am with any whore,
‘Cause my Nancy tickles my fancy, oh my charming Billy boy.
Oh, can she toss a bunt, Billy boy, Billy boy,
Oh, can she toss a bunt, my Billy boy?
Aye, she can toss a bunt, and she’ll let you feel her cunt,
And my Nancy tickles my fancy, oh my charming Billy boy.
Can she take it back or front, Billy boy, Billy boy,
Can she take it back or front, my Billy boy?
She can take it back or front, but prefers it in her cunt.
And my Nancy tickles my fancy, oh my charming Billy boy.
Oh, can she strop a block, Billy boy, Billy boy,
Oh can she strop a block, my Billy boy?
Aye, she can strop a block, and she’ll take a fathom of cock.
And my Nancy tickles my fancy, oh my charming Billy boy.
Can you keep her filled with glee, Billy boy, Billy boy,
Can you keep her filled with glee, my Billy boy?
I will keep her filled with glee if I live to ninety-three,
‘Cause my Nancy tickles my fancy, oh my charming Billy boy.
To “strop a block” means to engage in intercourse; on a ship it means to splice a circle of rope (the strop) around a pulley (the block).
The Good Ship Venus
Legman gives one version containing 23 verses, which he indicates was collected at St. Andrew’s University, Edinburgh, in 1955. The other version he attributes to the “British Army 1918-1956”.
There is lots of overlap between these two versions, and the verses are interchangeable with Friggin’ In The Riggin’, which is on Salty Dick’s Uncensored Sailor Songs.
Chorus
It was the good ship Venus
My god, you should have seen us:
The figurehead was a whore in bed
Sucking a red-hot penis.
The captain’s name was Wiggin,
When he caught anyone friggin’
He’d take a board and a length of cord
And lash him to the riggin’.
MacPherson was the surgeon,
He never needed urgin’.
His penis rose and wiped his nose
Whene’er he saw a virgin.
The second mate was Lester –
He was a virgin-tester.
Through membranes thick he drove his prick
‘Til it began to fester.
The bosun useful was for us (“wusferus”):
He smeared his prick with phosphorus,
And by that light all thru the night
We steered her thru the Bosporus.
The steward’s name was Slater
He was a masturbator,
And for a stunt he made a cunt
Out of an old potater.
The cook’s name was O’Malley;
Wanking was up his alley,
And for a bet he threw a jet
That washed away the galley.
The carpenter was Walter.
When we were at Gibraltar
He first produced, and then seduced
A goat upon the halter.
We went to Buenos Aires
And rogered all the fairies.
We caught the syph at Teneriffe,
And the clap in the Canaries.
We sailed the Adriatic
Feeling quite ecstatic.
The rise and fall of cock and ball
Was purely automatic.
Then came at last conclusion
To all of our pollution:
We combed the East to find a priest
To give us absolution.
The priest at first resisted.
Our gallant crew persisted,
And some poured rum upon his bum
And some his knackers twisted.
The final termination
Of ceaseless fornication
Was to scuttle the junk in a sea of spunk
By mutual masturbation.
Jinny Keep Yer Asshole Warm
In Shanties From The Seven Seas Hugill gives the title of this heaving chantey as Jamboree, with two alternatives: Jinny, Keep yer Ringtail Warm; Jinny, Git Yer Oatcake Done. He says that this song was “very difficult to camouflage. It is one of the shanties that upset the theory that ‘unprintable words were kept solely for the solos, the choruses were always above board’, or words to this effect, given by many collections, since the final and noisiest line of this shanty’s chorus is unprintable! Many of my verses I had from a certain Mr. Jones, a Welsh mate who had served in many sailing ships…the last line of each verse too had an unprintable line.”
Times being what they are today, on the recording I did some camouflaging of my own, changing the original “big-pricked black man” to “big-pricked sailorman”. In Hugill’s day there were no qualms about making use of racist stereotypes of Black men.
Now, me lads, be of good cheer, For the Irish land will soon draw near,
In a few days more we’ll sight Cape Clear.
Oooh, Jinny keep your asshole warm.
Now, me boys, we’re off Holyhead. No more we’ll cast the dipsy lead,
And soon we’ll lie in a fucking feather bed,
Oooh, Jinny keep your asshole warm.
Oh, jamboree, oh jamboree,
Ye big-pricked sailorman [black man], sheet it home behind.
Oh, jamboree, oh jamboree,
Oooh, Jinny keep your asshole warm.
Now the Bar Ship is in sight, And soon we’ll be off the old Rock Light,
And I’ll be up your flue tonight,
Oooh, Jinny keep your asshole warm.
Now we’re hauling through the dock,
All the pretty young gals on the pierhead do flock,
And there’s my Jinny, oh, she’s hungry for the cock!
Oooh, Jinny keep your asshole warm.
Grand Chorus
Now we’re tied up to the pier, it’s go below and stow your musty gear.
And I’ll soon be two blocks up you, my dear,
Oooh, Jinny keep your asshole warm.
Now I’m safely on the shore and I don’t give a fuck how the winds do roar,
I’ll drop me anchor and I’ll go to sea no more,
Oooh, Jinny keep your asshole warm.
Grand chorus
Now I’ve had two weeks ashore, I’ll pack me bag and go to sea once more,
And I’ll bid goodbye to me Liverpool whore,
Oooh, Jinny keep your asshole warm.
Grand chorus
This song describes the landmarks a ship would pass on its way into the port of Liverpool.
The Swab’s Alphabet Song
A 20th-century Royal Navy song that was passed along to me by a forgotten source. The original title is “The OD’s Alphabet Song”, with OD being a Royal Navy term for ordinary seaman, a rank given to sailors under the age of 21; I changed OD to the more general “Swab”. The note attached to the lyrics reads in part, “Last sung on Ark Royal in 1965, it was more of a performance than a straight song, with messmates frankly horrified at the actions.”
The tune is from an old British version of folk song titled A Frog He Would A-Wooing Go.
A’s for the Arsehole all plastered in shit,
Hey! Ho! Said Rowley!
And B is the Bastard who’s rolling in it!
With a HEY! and a HO! and a fucking good spew.
Hey HO! said Anthony Rowley!
C is for clitoris all dripping with piss,
And D is the devil who gives it a kiss.
E is for Eunuch with only one ball,
And F is for fucker with no balls at all.
G is for gangrene, gonorrhea and gout,
And H is the harlot that spreads it about.
I is the Itch, which comes with the crabs,
And J is for jamrag all covered in scabs.
K is the king of the Cannibal Isles,
And L is the lover who stuffs back his piles.
M is the monk in the monast’ry bright,
And N is the nun who sees him alright.
O is the orifice all ragged and red,
And P is the penis, that fucks it in bed.
Q is the Quaker who shat in his hat,
And R is the rector who ate what he shat.
S is for shitpan topped up to the brim,
And T are the turds that are floating within.
U is the Urchin a-pulling his pud,
And V is the vicar who wished that he could.
W is for wanking – which is Oh! Such a farce!
And X, Y, and Z you can stick up your arse.
Reefy Tayckle
Per Stan Hugill’s notes on this song it “was both a capstan and pumps songs as well as an old forebitter. I had this shanty from ‘Big Mac’, an A.B. called MacDonald, who, in the First World War had sailed from New Zealand, round the Horn, to Europe. The omission of the last word of each stanza is correct.”
Every good ship has an anchor, every anchor has a stock,
Every boy that loves a flash gal has a bloody great…
Slack away your reefy tayckle, reefy tayckle, reefy tayckle,
Slack away your reefy tayckle, me bollocks are jammed!
Every good ship has a lifeboat, every lifeboat has some rollocks,
Every boy that that loves a flash gal has a fine pair of…
Slack away your reefy tayckle, reefy tayckle, reefy tayckle,
Slack away your reefy tayckle, me bollocks are jammed!
Every good ship has a sidelight, every sidelight has a wick,
Every boy that that loves a flash gal has a few fathoms of…
Slack away your reefy tayckle, reefy tayckle, reefy tayckle,
Slack away your reefy tayckle, me bollocks are jammed!
Every good ship has a mainsail, every mainsail has a bunt,
Every gal that loves a sailor has a nice hairy…
Slack away your reefy tayckle, reefy tayckle, reefy tayckle,
Slack away your reefy tayckle, me bollocks are jammed!
Every good ship that goes alongside makes fast to the bitts,
Every gal that loves a sailor has a fine pair of…
Slack away your reefy tayckle, reefy tayckle, reefy tayckle,
Slack away your reefy tayckle, me bollocks are jammed!
“Reefy tayckle” refers to the lines used to pull up a sail when it needed to be reefed – shortened because the wind was too strong. When the reef tackle (which old-time sailors always pronounced “tayckle”) was hauled tight it gathered the folds of a sail together in a bunch. Stan Hugill told a story about a sailor on a yard getting his balls pinched as the sail was reefed, and singing the song so his mates would “slack away” or loosen the line. “Rollocks” is British pronunciation of row locks, which are also known as oar locks. A “bunt” is a fold in a sail, created when it is furled. “Bitts” are stout timbers to which heavy lines like hawsers are fastened.
She Rolled And She Tumbled
Her tits were swollen and her ass was red,
And she sat there smiling on the edge of the bed.
I said, “I’d like to fuck ya!” She said, “You think you can?”
So then and there I jumped her and the action began.
Chorus
She rolled and she tumbled and she shit on the floor,
And wiped her ass on the knob of the door,
While the moon shone green on the nipple of her tit,
And she brushed her teeth with a bluebird’s shit.
Now this little gal really knew how to lay;
She was the best piece of ass that ever hit the hay.
The skin of her belly was tight as a drum,
And every time we fucked it went ruma-tum-tum.
Well, I see this little lady every time I come to town,
And it’s balls to the wall and we really get down.
But I’ve learned that her sniffer just doesn’t work a bit,
‘Cause every time I’m there the place smells like shit!
Cheerily Man
Oh, Nancy Dawson, ai-oh – cheer’ly man!
She’s got no draws on, ai-oh – cheer’ly man!
And likes it head on, ai-oh – cheer’ly man!
Oh, olly-high-oh – cheer’ly man!
Oh, Sally Rackett, Who’d like to shag it, And get a packet?
Oh, Flora Fernanah, She likes a banana, Stuck up her vagina.
Oh, Widow Skinner, Likes cock for dinner, Long, thick or thinner.
Oh, Missus Duckitt, Shits in a bucket, Who’d like to fuck it?
Oh, Sally Riddle, I saw her piddle, Through a cinder-riddle.
Oh, Betty Baker, Lives in Long Acre, I’d like to rake her.
Oh, Jinny Walker, Fucked by a hawker, Who had a corker.
Oh, Josie Bell, She fucks as well, And never will tell.
Oh, Kitty Carson, She spliced a whoreson, Who likes it stern on.
Oh, Polly Hawkins, In her white stockings, Has had some fuckings.
A “packet” in the first verse is a case of venereal disease. “Stern-on”, of course, means doggie style. I have no idea what a “cinder-riddle” is; if you do, I await your correspondence.
Can’t Ye Dance The Polka?
As I rolled down the Bowry one evening in July
I met a maid who asked my trade, and “A Sailor John,” says I.
Then away, you Santee, my fair maid.
Oh, ye New York gals, can’t ye dance the polka?
To a fancy store I took her, I did not mind expense,
I bought her two gold earrings and they cost me fifteen cents.
Says she, “You Limejuice sailor, now see me home you may.”
But when we reached her own back door, she unto me did say:
“My fancyman’s a Yankee, with his hair cut short behind.
He wears a pair of long seaboots, and he’s bosun in the Black Ball Line.”
“He’s homeward bound tomorrow, and he will want his hole.
So if you want to dip your wick you’ll have to rock and roll.”
So I grabbed her right and proper, afore her flash man docked,
And up the stairs we climbed right smart, and soon her snatch was cocked.
I rode her long and hard, boys, she wriggled like an eel,
And when I rammed it home two blocks, this maiden sure did squeal.
When I awoke next morning my head was sore as hell:
She’d hit me with the pisspot, boys, and skint me pay as well.
I wrapped me glad rags ‘round me and to the docks did steer.
I’ll never court another maid, I’ll stick to run and beer.
I joined a Yankee bloodboat, and sailed away next morn.
Don’t ever fool around with girls, you’re safer off Cape Horn!
A “fancyman”, also called a “flash man”, was a woman’s favorite – not really a boyfriend, since prostitutes were working girls with many men in their lives, but a particular fella who got special treatment when he was in port. “Two blocks” is a sailor term for two pulleys being pulled into contact with each other, which meant the line was a tight as it could be; it’s synonymous with the term “chock-a-block”. A “bloodboat” was a vessel with a reputation for extreme discipline and hard usage.
The Mate’s Asshole
For years I participated in a wonderful music camp called Rustic Roots, where the singing of dirty chanteys was a big part of the experience. One of the other staff had a song called The Woodpecker’s Hole about putting a finger into said hole and the bird requesting a different action in each verse. I can’t recall where I learned that there was a nautical version of the Woodpecker’s Hole. One should feel free to add and change the verbs.
Nique Dehors, the engineer for the album, says that this is an excellent example of mutual consent for sexual activity.
I put my fist up the mate’s asshole,
And the mate he said, “Goddamn yer soul –
“Take it out! Take it out! Take it out! Reee-move it!”
I removed my fist from the mate’s asshole,
And the mate he said, “Goddamn yer soul –
“Put it back! Put it back! Put it back! Reee-place it!”
I replaced my fist in the mate’s asshole,
And the mate he said, “Goddamn yer soul –
“Turn it ‘round! Turn it ‘round! Turn it ‘round! Reee-volve it!”
I revolved my fist in the mate’s asshole,
And the mate he said, “Goddamn yer soul –
“Other way! Other way! Other way! Reee-verse it!”
I reversed my fist in the mate’s asshole,
And the mate he said, “Goddamn yer soul –
“Pull it back! Pull it back! Pull it back! Reee-tract it!”
I retracted my fist from the mate’s asshole,
And the mate he said, “Goddamn yer soul –
“Stick it in! Stick it in! Stick it in! Reee-insert it!”
I reinserted my fist in the mate’s asshole,
And the mate he said, “Goddamn yer soul –
“Other side! Other side! Other side! Reee-align it!”
I realigned my fist in the mate’s asshole,
And the mate he said, “Goddamn yer soul –
“Take it out! Take it out! Take it out! Reee-cede it!”
I receded my fist from the mate’s asshole,
And the mate he said, “Goddamn yer soul –
“Put it back! Put it back! Put it back! Reee-store it!”
Oysterman
What a wonderful, bizarre, creative, and filthy set of words, using a classic Mexican folk melody.
You got your cat’s ass, you got your rat’s ass,
You got your dirty stinking twat.
You got your sixty-nine fucking douche bags
Tied in a great big Jesus knot.
First you cock suck, then you butt fuck.
Hey, you beat off in a shoe.
I’m an oysterman, sometimes I picka the clam –
Who the flying fuck are you?
Gals O’ Chile
This is an outward-bound capstan chantey which Stan Hugill learned in 1926 from Mike O’Rourke, “a fine old Irish seaman who had spent much time the W.C.S.A. trade – that is, in Liverpool Cape Horners which traded to the ports of Peru and Chile to load guano and nitrates.”
Hugill further states, “both the verses and refrains I have had to alter to make the song printable. Sailors abused ‘furrin lingoes’ no end – it was quite a pastime in the old days – and the original refrains of this shanty were nothing more than bawdy alterations of Spanish phrases.” In his long-lost manuscript, he gives the real lyrics, and they are remarkable.
To Chile’s coast we are bound away,
Timme arsyhole, bungolero!
To Chile’s coast we are bound away,
We’ll shag and all drink pisco!
To Chile’s coast we are bound away
Where them little Spanish gals hawk their tripe all day.
Timme arsy bungolero!
Sing olé for a two-way whore!
And when we gets to Vallipo 2x
They’ll grab you round the middle and they won’t let go,
To the casa-de-puta with a roll and go,
Them gals of Chile they are hard to beat 2x
They shag like a hen when a cock it meets,
Oh, a rumper-la-cola is a sailor’s treat,
Them señoritas are smart and gay 2x
They drink and shag ‘til the break of day,
Then pitch you out like a bale of hay,
My trim little packet is a very smart craft 2x
You can have your choice of a hole or a crack,
A peso up the front and two for up the back,
Rosita, Anna, and Carmen, too 2x
They’ll greet you with a hullabaloo,
And they’ll drop their drawers for a nice fuckeroo,
Them señoritas, as we know well 2x
They’re red-hot devils from the other side of hell,
Keep your hand on your money when you shag a Chile belle,
When the time comes for to say farewell 2x
Goodbye to the gals and our money as well,
With a dose of the pox from old Corynel,
“Rumper la cola” and “rumper” are sailor pronunciations of the Spanish “rompir el culo” which literally means “break the ass” and refers to anal sex. Sailors believed that having anal sex would keep them from getting a venereal disease. This is why there are so many references in these dirty chanteys to anal sex with women; in this song a prostitute even charges double for taking it “up the back”. “Casa de puta” is Spanish for whorehouse.
Condoms Johnny
Copyright 2012 The HardTackers LLC
This brilliant parody was put together by an Ohio-based chantey group called the HardTackers, who I had the pleasure of meeting and singing with at the Chicago Maritime Festival many years back. The melody is taken from a halyard chantey called Whiskey Johnny.
You can take a tip from me
Condoms, Johnny
You don’t want to get VD
Condoms for me Johnny-O
When ashore or on the boat
Better wear your overcoat
Get your condoms by all means
From the store or from machines
Wear ‘em when you go ashore
Wear ‘em when you’re bangin’ whores
Use condoms ribbed or condoms thin
You don’t know where that thing’s been
Condoms keep you from the clap
Better keep that rascal wrapped
Keep a condom on your knob
Long or short they’ll do the job
Condoms keep a sailor free
From unwanted progeny
Condoms are a cinch to use
Black and white and pastel hues
Put ‘em on before you kiss
And you won’t get syphilis
Condoms give security
If you want wear two or three
One last thing you have to do
Take it off when you are through.
Johnny Come Down To Hilo
I had to change a few racist words.
I won’t wed a sailor [nigger], no I’m damned if I do,
He’s got jiggers in his bollocks and his asshole, too.
Johnny come down to Hilo, poor old man.
Now who’s been here since I’ve been gone?
Some big buck sailor [nigger]with a hard-on on.
Johnny come down to Hilo, poor old man.
Oh! Wake her! Oh shake her! Oh Wake that gal with the blue dress on.
When Johnny come down to Hilo, poor old man.
He travelled all around ‘til he came to the shack
Where his Sally made a living, oh, a-lying on her back.
He went upstairs and he saw through a crack
Sally lying on the deck with her mainsail aback.
Grand chorus
She’d just grabbed hold of a piece of plank,
Shoved it up her crack and gave herself a wank.
He opened the door, she gave a little cry,
And then he stove his toggle up her ol’ deadeye.
Grand chorus
He was hard as a rock, and he soon was two-blocks,
But in five days time he had a dose of the pox.
And he swore he’d never touch another blooming whore,
But was back on the job next time he came ashore.
Grand chorus
“Mainsail aback” means her dress was pulled up. A “toggle” is a strong pin of wood used to fasten pieces of rigging. A “deadeye” is a part of the standing rigging of a ship: a round block of wood with holes in it. In this song it means anus. “On the job” is British slang for fucking.
Saltpetre Shanty
This is another chantey from the nitrate and guano trade to the West Coast of South America in the second half of the 19th century. Saltpetre (also spelled saltpeter) is the old name for potassium nitrate, an ingredient in fertilizer and gunpowder.
In Shanties From The Seven Seas Hugill writes, “it is one of four shanties rarely heard in other trades, the other three being Rollocky Randy Dandy O!, Serafina, and The Girls of Chile. They have rarely found their way into print owing to the difficulty of camouflaging them: they were all obscene to a degree, even the refrains and choruses being extremely bawdy. I had this one from Spike Sennit, an old sailing-ship A.B. It was used at the capstan.”
To old Callyo we are bound away,
Asshole!
To old Callyo we are bound away,
Asshole!
We’re bound away at the break of the day
To where them putas of Chile will grab all our pay.
Asshole! Suck [slap] her tits!
Ram it two-blocks up her asshole!
Old Pedro the pimp, boys, he knows us of old, Asshole! 2x
He’s a-priming his vino, and doping his beer,
To the Chinchas he’ll ship us if we don’t steer clear.
Asshole! Suck [slap] her tits! Ram it two-blocks up her asshole!
Old Madam the Judge stands her tarts in a row, Asshole!
She wants all her gals to put on a good show, Asshole!
They’re powdering their fannies, they’re scenting their holes,
Awaiting us Jackshites to flush out their holes.
Asshole! Suck [slap] her tits! Ram it two-blocks up her asshole!
Them putas of Chile they’re so hard to beat, Asshole! 2x
With a blow-through and a rumper and a skinful of wine,
But them bastards is poxing us all of the time.
Asshole! Suck [slap] her tits! Ram it two-blocks up her asshole!
We’ll wash down saltpetre with pisco and wine, Asshole! 2x
When we’re loaded and ready for to sing a farewell,
Them young Chile whores, boys, we’ll wish ‘em in Hell.
Asshole! Suck [slap] her tits! Ram it two-blocks up her asshole!
The Chinchas were islands off the coast of Peru where seabird guano was mined, under dreadful conditions, by men who were virtual slaves. “Jackshite” meant a sailor. As any Brit knows, the term “fannies” refers not to the ladies’ asses but to their cunts. A “blow-through” meant intercourse, not oral sex, and a “rumper” meant anal sex (and is a rather clever pun).
Isle of Lesbos
© Captains of the Head
Another parody of a well-known sea song, Rolling Down To Old Maui. The Captains of the Head are a Detroit-based band that came together when they acquired Salty Dick’s Uncensored Sailor Songs – they switched from punk rock to dirty sea songs and started cranking out great material. Their terrific album New Directions/Nude Erections is available on BandCamp.
It’s a damn tough life full of toil and strife we sailormen undergo.
And it gets worse when the voyage is cursed and the violent winds do blow.
We were homeward bound from the Arctic ground,
With a good ship better than most,
But the ship went down when we ran aground on the Isle of Lesbos.
On the Isle of Lesbos, me boys, on the Isle of Lesbos.
We were homeward bound but we ran aground on the Isle of Lesbos.
When we debarked the night was dark and we all swam for land.
As the waves did breach we reached the beach and rested on the sand.
As the daylight came it became plain from signs placed on the coast:
No men shall be found upon the ground of the Isle of Lesbos.
Not allowed on old Lesbos, me boys, not allowed on old Lesbos.
For the signs they read “There’s no place for men on the Isle of Lesbos.”
Three maidens came to inspect our gang; buck-naked they did ride.
With hair in their pits, and braless tits, for they had no use for guys.
Our first mate was quick: as he fingered his prick he asked if he could stand watch,
And we all sighed at the husky thighs that framed each hairy crotch.
No razors on old Lesbos, me boys, no razors on old Lesbos.
There’s no urinals, just a bunch of girls on the Isle of Lesbos.
They soon advanced and we stood no chance, so prisoners we became.
We all did pray they’d take us away and punish us by gangbang.
But we were locked in a cage and tortured for days with nothing to do but cry,
While ‘round us they danced to feminist chants, and ate out at the Y.
Can’t get off on old Lesbos, me boys, can’t get off on old Lesbos.
Let death come soon for we’ll get no poon on the Isle of Lesbos.
We were starving to death, surrounded by breasts, and the hours were so long.
We kept offering dick but it made them sick: they were satisfied with strap-ons.
With death coming near I let go of fear, and reflected upon my life,
And the last thing I seen was the Lesbian Queen going down on her wife.
Going down in old Lesbos, me boys, going down in old Lesbos.
We ran aground, now we’re six feet down in the Isle of Lesbos.
Flash Nell
I found this piece in the manuscript of Gershon Legman’s unpublished collection of bawdy songs; he devoted a whole chapter to sea songs. His note states that he collected it in Long Island City, NY, in 1927. Although no tune is given, it’s clear that it’s set to the melody of the old forebitter The Dreadnaught.
There is a young damsel, a damsel of fame,
A moll of the highway, Flash Nell is her name.
She cruised in the Bay and loudly did bawl,
“Rig out your long jibbooms, your bollocks and all.”
Singing fal the ral dadee fal de dal-day.
Her dress she unbent, she brailed up her chemise,
And hauled down her silk stockings my actions to please.
She slipped my jibboom ‘tween her lily-white thighs,
Saying, “Blimey, young sailor, oh ain’t it a size!”
Singing fal the ral dadee fal de dal-day.
I rode her a watch and an hour or so more,
Till my jibboom fell limber and my bobstay grew sore.
I emptied my bollocks and felt I was done,
No charge in my locker to fire off my gun.
Singing fal the ral dadee fal de dal-day.
“For quarter, oh quarter!” to her I did cry,
“No quarter, bold sailor,” Flash Nell did reply.
“You have the best quarters that I can afford,
“So turn to with your fucking, or jump overboard.”
Singing fal the ral dadee fal de dal-day.
There is much sailor jargon used in this song. “Jibboom” and “bobstay” were sailor terms for the erect penis, based on the resemblance between those parts of the ship and a tumescent male member. When Flash Nell gets undressed, the terms “unbent”, “brailed up”, and “hauled down” all refer to how sails were handled. The bold sailor’s efforts set up the humor of the last verse: when he claims that he “rode her a watch and an hour or two more” he’s describing a time period of 5 or 6 hours (a “watch” was a sailor’s on-duty shift – 4 hours) – not too shabby, but not good enough for Flash Nell!
Maggie May
This song was both a forebitter (not-a-chantey) and a capstan chantey, beloved of Liverpool crews. The setting is, of course, Liverpool, and the song has the distinction of being the only chantey recorded by the Beatles (just one mangled verse though); when Hugill wrote his book in the late 1950s, he said, “It’s most recent appearance is over the air as a skiffle item.”
Come all ye sailors bold, and when me tale is told
I know ye all will sadly pity me.
For I was a goddamn fool in the port of Liverpool,
On the voyage when I first paid off from sea.
I paid off at the home after a voyage from Sierra Leone;
Two pounds ten a month had been me pay,
And as I jingled in me tin, I was sadly taken in
By a lady with the name of Maggie May.
Chorus
Oh, Maggie, Maggie May, they have taken you away,
To slave upon Van Diemen’s cruel shore.
You robbed many a whaler and you poxed many a sailor,
But you’ll never cruise ‘round Paradise Street no more.
When I steered into her I hadn’t got a care –
I was cruisin’ up and down old Canning Place.
She was dressed in a gown so fine, like a frigate of the line,
And I, being a sailorman, gave chase.
She gave me a saucy nod, and I, like a farmer’s clod,
Let her take me line abreast in tow,
And under all plain sail we ran before the gale,
And to the Crow’s Nest Tavern we did go.
Chorus
When I got full of beer to her lodgings we did steer;
She charged fifteen shillings for all night.
I was so ruddy drunk, as I got in her bunk,
Not knowing if I’d shagged or shoved up shite.
Next morning when I woke, me prick all bent and broke,
I hadn’t got a penny to me name.
So I had to pawn me boots, me John L’s and me suit
Down in the Park Lane pawnshop Number Nine.
Chorus
A week it passed away, and in me bunk I lay,
A-cursing the day that I’d met Maggie May.
I’d got a dose of clap, and it ran just like a tap,
With a blueball and two chancres for me pay.
She was chained and sent away from Liverpool that day,
The lads they cheered as she sailed down the Bay.
And every sailor lad, he only was too glad
They’d sent the old whore out to Botany Bay.
Chorus
Oh you thieving Maggie May, ye robbed me of me pay
When I slept with you last night ashore.
Guilty the jury found her of robbing a homeward-bounder,
And she’ll never roll down Park Lane any more.
“John L’s” is sailor slang for long underwear, named after the tights that the famous boxer John L. Sullivan wore.
Here’s to the Sea Hag
Here’s to the sea hag, the ugly scag, the bug-infested slut.
Green fungus grows between her toes and worms crawl out of her butt.
Before I’d climb her scaley legs to kiss her infected tits
I’d drink a gallon of seagull puke and die of the screaming shits!
Captain Coffin’s Widow’s Dildo
This bonus track was written by Captain Don River, a founder of the Captains of the Head and the chief lyricist for the group. I asked the Captains to contribute an original song for this album, and they came up with this tale, based on a real life incident. Nantucket “whaling widows” were known to make use of a replica of their husband’s ‘harpoon’, which they referred to in their diaries as a “he’s at home”. No one had ever found an actual one, however, until a renovation of the house of Captain James B. Coffin and his wife Martha in 1979, when in a bricked-up fireplace Captain Coffin’s widow’s dildo was found.
Sadly, Capt. Don River died in early 2025. A wonderful talent and nice guy, gone aloft.
For over 100 years sea music fans have wondered about what old-time sailors really sang when hauling on a halyard or heaving at the pumps. Every collector of chanteys from the late 19th through the early 20th century was careful not to include rude and naughty words in the chanteys they preserved. And every one would let the gentle reader know that they were not morally allowed to share the awful, disgusting lyrics that sailors actually used while working on board a ship.
One mid-20th-century collector took matters further than anyone: Stan Hugill. Hugill had sailed in square-riggers from the 1920s through the 1930s, and became a chanteyman himself. He collected hundreds of chanteys, including the raw original versions that other collectors shied away from. In his important collection Shanties From The Seven Seas, first published in 1961, he stated that “I have endeavored to get nearer to the original than other writers.”
But he did better than “get nearer” – much better. Before his chantey collection was published Hugill wrote down the unexpurgated words to 42 chanteys that he’d learned from shipmates and veteran sailors, which he titled Sailing Ship Shanties, using the pseudonym Long John Silver. While he did not intend to publish these himself, he let his readers know that he had passed this manuscript on to a scholar of bawdry named Gershon Legman, who did plan to publish a huge book of bawdy songs.
While Hugill went on to publish his book of chanteys, including many with “camouflaged” lyrics, Legman never did bring his tome to publication, more’s the pity. And so Hugill’s dirty chantey lyrics were lost for decades. Only in 2014 did a scholar track them down, hidden in an archive of Legman’s papers at the Kinsey Institute. Eventually I got my mitts on the manuscript, and so today you can enjoy the work songs that sailors sang long ago as they toiled at the capstan, windlass, pumps, and halyards.
Above are the lyrics to the songs on the album, with historical notes. Lyrics in brackets are the words used in the manuscript, while unbracketed lyrics in italics are what are sung on the recording.

Salty Dick’s Uncensored Sailor Songs
Track List
- Banks of the Sacramento
- Asshole Rules the Navy
- Chinatown Bumboat
- Friggin’ in the Riggin’
- Priest and Nuns
- North Atlantic Squadron
- Johnny Come Down to Hilo
- Charlotte the Harlot
- The Whores of Sailortown
- The Shaver
- The Dockyard Church
- The Crabfish
- Amsterdam
- A Matlow Told Me
- Cristopher Columbo
- Serafina
- The Red Flag
- Bell-bottom Trousers
- The Fireship
- The Sailor’s Dream
- Fuck ‘Em All
Banks of the Sacramento
Asshole Rules the Navy
Chinatown Bumboat
Friggln’ In the Riggin'
Priest and Nuns
North Atlantic Squadron
Johnny Come Down to Hilo
Charlotte the Harlot
The Whores of Sailortown
The Shaver
The Dockyard Church
The Crabfish
Amsterdam
A Matlow Told Me
Christopher Columbo
Serafina
The Red Flag
Bell-bottom Trousers
The Fireship
The Sailor's Dream
Fuck 'Em All
Here is a collection of songs as Sailors sung them: bawdy, raw and uncensored. Not for the timid or prissy, these are examples of the entertainment seamen past and present created for themselves. Some are in the form of chanteys: work songs from the sailing ship era. These include rare unexpurgated versions preserved by the late Stan Hugill, who sang many of these himself during his days as a windjammer sailor in the early 20th century. Also included are songs from the Royal Navy, the Canadian Navy and the U.S. Navy, covering a span of years from the 19th century to today.
This is material that most folklorists have passed over and which is still transmitted today as all songs were at one time: by word of mouth. Whether you are a student of traditional song, a lover of maritime lore, or just enjoy a good dirty song, you’ll find something of interest on this recording.
Sailors, like any exclusively male community, have probably always sung “dirty” songs. Even a cursory perusal of the available literature reveals ribald songs from cowboys, soldiers, rugby players, boy scouts. The available literature is scanty, however, since few folksong collectors preserved material of this nature. It is, therefore, one of the last branches of folk music that still relies primarily on oral transmission. If you want to learn songs that deal frankly with sexual themes, find a group of men without the company of women, open up a bottle or two, and stay close until the singing begins.
For seamen, the enforced abstinence of sea voyages created a pressure that found an outlet in the singing of bawdy songs. Much material has been lost to us, but there remains a small body of song of maritime provenance that is still pure and unbowdlerized. It is my intention with this recording to preserve a few of these gems, to probe this back channel of sea music. These are songs from both the merchant service and naval tradition, songs of long ago as well as of today and songs from all corners of the English-speaking maritime world.
I have collected this material from a number of sources. From the great Stan Hugill come uncensored versions of well-known chanteys. From Jerry Silverman’s invaluable work The Dirty Song Book come a number of rude songs. From musical confederates of mine come various impolite ditties. And from friends who served in the seaborne military services of Great Britain and the United States comes some of the most disgusting material of all. I thank them all, and dedicate this work to the memory of the men of the sea who found a lightening of their burdens through the uplift provided by a choice naughty song.
In particular, I wish to express gratitude to these individuals for their contributions to this recording: Tony Barrand, Oscar Brand, Jerry Bryant, Ed Cray, Tom Lewis, Dave Peloquin, Steve Sanfilippo, Kevin Watkins.
Richard “Salty Dick” Docker. PH.D. May 2004