My Donald - Cara Dillon

My Donald he works on the sea

On the waves that blow wild and free

He splices the ropes and sets the sails

While southward he rolls tae the home o the whale

He ne’er thinks o me far behind

Or the torments that rage in my mind

He’s mine for only half part o the year

Then I’m left all alane wi nowt but a tear

Ye ladies wha smell o wild rose

Think ye for your perfume tae whaur a man goes

Think ye o the wives and the bairnies wha yearn

For a man ne’er returnin frae huntin the sperm