The turn of the tide

An' Bill can have my sea-boots, Nigger Jim can have my knife;

You can divvy up the dundarees an' bed;

An' the ship can have my blessing an' the Lord can have my life,

An' sails an' fish my body when I'm dead.

An' dreamin' down below there in the tangled greens an' blues,

Where the sunlight shudders golden round about,

I shall hear the ship complainin' an the cursin' of the crews;

An' be sorry when the watch is tumbled out.

I shall hear them hilly-hollying the weather crojick brace,

An' the sucking of the wash about the hull;

When they chanty up the topsail I'll be haulin' in my place

For my soul will follow sewards like a gull.

I shall hear the blocks a-gruntin' in the bumpkins overside,

An' the slatting of the storm-sails on the stay,

An' the rippling of the catspaw at the making of the tide,

An' the swirl an' splash of porpoises at play.

An' Bill can have my sea-boots, Nigger Jim can have my knife;

You can divvy up the the whack I haven't scoffed

An' the ship can have my blessing an' the Lord can have my life,

For it's time I quit the deck and went aloft.