From Liverpool to 'Frisco a-rovin' I went,
For to stay in that country was my good intent.
But drinkin' strong whiskey like other damned fools,
Oh, I soon got transported back to Liverpool, singin'

Roll, roll, roll bullies, roll!
Them Liverpool judies have got us in tow.

I shipped on the Alaska lies out in the Bay,
A-waitin' a fair wind to get under way.
With all of her sailors so sick and so sore,
They'd [bad word] all their whiskey and can't get no more.

Oh, [bad word] the mate in a [bad word] of a stew.
He's lookin' for work for us sailors to do.
Oh, it's ``Fore tops'l halyards!'' he loudly does roar,
And it's lay aloft Paddy, ye son-o'-a [bad word] !

One night of Cape Horn I shall never forget,
'Tis oft-times I sighs when I think of it yet.
She was divin' bows under with her sailors all wet,
She was doin' twelve knots wid her mainskys'l set.

And now we've arrived in the Bramleymoor Dock,
And all them flash judies on the pierhead do flock.
The [bad word] dry and our five quid advance,
And I guess it's high time for to git up and dance.

Here's a health to the Captain wherever he may be,
bucko on land and a bully at sea,
But as for the chief mate, the dirty ol' [bad word] 
We hope when he dies straight to [bad word] he'll skyhoot.