If I had the wings of a gull, me boys, I'd spread them and fly home
I'd leave old Greenland's icy grounds for of right whales there are none
And the weather's rough and the winds do blow and there's little comfort here
I'd sooner be snug in an Edinburgh pub a-drinking of strong beer
Oh a man must be mad or want money bad to venture catching whales
For he may be drowned when the whale turns around or his head be smashed by the tail
Though the work seems grand to the young green hand and his heart is high when he goes
In a very short burst you'll hear the curse and the cry of "There She Blows"
All hands on deck now, for God's sake, move briskly if you can
And you stumble on deck both dizzy and sick, and for your life you don't give a damn
And high overhead the great fish sped, and the mate gave the whale the iron
And soon the blood in a purple flood from the spout-hole comes a-flying
These trials we bear for nigh four years till the ship she points for home
We're due for our toil a bonus on the oil and an equal share of the bone
When we go to the agent to settle for the trip then we find we've cause for lament
We slaved away four years of our lives and earned about three pounds ten