Is it this song?

                                        The Tavern

When the moon’s on the water and the night’s drawing in
And you feel like a rum or a jigger of gin,
I’ll take you along to the Mariners’ Inn,
To the place where the sailormen gather.
An old concertina plays some shanty song,
They’ll tell you the words so that you’ll sing along,
And before the night’s over you’ll feel you belong
In the tavern that’s down by the harbour.

Ch: So lift up your voices and sway to the tune
       The good times we cherish are over too soon.
       We’ll find our way home by the light of the moon
       From the tavern that’s down by the harbour.

There’s a ship’s figure-head hanging over the door,
She’s heard all the songs and the stories before.
She’d sooner be facing the wide ocean’s roar,
But she knows that her sailing is over.
So she smiles all the while with her tongue in her cheek,
The things she could tell if she only could speak,
How the tales of the sailors get taller each week
In the tavern that’s down by the harbour.

There’s an old man who swears he’s been twice round the Horn.
‘Sailors aren’t made,’ he says, ‘Sailors are born.’
When the sea’s in your blood all its dangers you’ll scorn
For the home of your heart is the ocean.
In the half-light an old sea-dog tells a sad tale
Of a ship once was lost on the swell of a gale,
And he swore from that night that he never would sail
Since his mates found a grave at the bottom.

There’s a lantern that squeaks as it swings in the hall,
Nets and harpoons and old ropes on the wall,
And it’s cozy and warm, for the room it is small,
And the candlelight dances and flickers.
And the sights and the sounds and the songs of the sea
Set your mind stirring to things that might be.
If you were but younger and single and free
To follow the dreams of your boyhood.