And on that subject:


I've lived a sailor's life far away from home and wife;
I've been sick in every one of seven seas.
I've been drenched and I've been floored, seen my mate washed overboard,
And I've shared my bed with weevils, rats and fleas.
So sing to me a soldier's song with deeds of derring-do,
Or sing to me a love song like those happy people do;
But don't sing me a sea song about sailing oceans blue
'Cos I get enough of that all blooming day.

I have lived a soldier's life midst the bullets and the strife
When your only thought is reaching your next leave;
I've crawled my way through mud and many times through blood,
And I've wiped my best friend's guts from my own sleeve.
So sing to me a sailor's song of the places where he goes,
Or sing to me a love song of some tender English rose;
But sing the British Grenadiers and I'll punch you on the nose
'Cos I get enough of that all blooming day.

I have lived a lover's life (kindly don't inform the wife!);
I've had women till my head and body's sore.
It runs me off my feet making sure that they don't meet
And I've fathered kids some thirty times or more
So sing to me a sailor's song, how he leaves the girls behind,
Or sing to me of barracks where no women you can find;
But don't sing about that widow that wants it a hundred times
'Cos I get enough of that all blooming day.