our packet is the island lass
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there's a laddie howlin' at the main topmast
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the old man he's from barbados
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he's got the name of hammer toes
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he gives is us bread as hard as brass
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our junk's as salt as a bailer's arse
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the monkey's raised in a soldier's clothes
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we'll haul 'em high and let 'em dry
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we'll trice 'em up into the sky
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it's up aloft that yard must go
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for your shore-going clothes
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