Ah, the chain plates creaked and began to crack,
And the transom started to split,
ANd the bob-stays screamed like a hellion's dream
And the storm grew as dark as the Pit.
But we never flinched and we never turned
With a hundred and fifty to go,
We stood our watches one at a time
ANd let the damn storm blow.

Oh, our sides were sore and our ribs were bruised
And our fingers sore and bleeding
And our eyes were tight from the endless night
When the binnacle needed readin'.
But we limped below for an hour or so
And came back to the helm and the stay,
We wuz damned if we'd let this goddamned storm
Keep us short of our thirty-three kay.