The Weary Whaling Ground - Battlefield Band

If I had the wings of a gull, me boys\nI’d spread them and fly home\nI’d leave old Greenland’s icy grounds\nFor of right whales there is none\nAnd the weather’s rough and the winds do blow\nAnd there’s little comfort here\nI’d sooner be snug in an Edinburgh pub\nA-drinking of strong beer\nOh, a man must be mad or want money\nBad to venture catching whales\nFor he may be drowned\nWhen the whale turns around\nOr his head be smashed by the tail\nThough the work seems grand\nTo the young green hand\nAnd his heart is high when he goes\nIn a very short burst you’ll hear the curse\nAnd the cry of «There she blows»\nAll hands on deck now\nFor God’s sake, move briskly if you can\nAnd you stumble on deck both dizzy and sick\nFor your life you don’t give a damn\nAnd high overhead the great fish sped\nAnd the mate gave the whale the iron\nAnd soon the blood in a purple flood\nFrom the spout-hole comes a-flying\nThese trials we bear for nigh four years till the ship\nShe points for home\nWe’re due for our toil, a bonus on the oil\nAnd an equal share of the bone\nWhen we go to the agent to settle for the trip\nThen we find we’ve cause for lament\nFor we slaved away four years of our lives\nAnd earned about three pounds ten\nIf I had the wings of a gull, me boys\nI’d spread them and fly home