As usual I've further pared down this song, changed some of the wording, and added another chorus (copy and paste into WORD/TIMES/12 to line up the chords):
C--------------------------F Now I've had a whirl at games of chance ----------C---------G---------C From Bombay 'round to Cork, -----C'------------------C I've seen the ways of high finance ------C'-----------C--------G In cut-throat old New York; --C'----------------C I know the way a bargain's made -----C'------C-------G In Con-ti-nent-al marts, --------C-------------------F Where crafty merchants ply their trade ---------C---------G7------C And practice cunning arts; -------------------------F But when I call them back to mind, -----C-------G--------C I make a solemn vow -- ---------C'------------C There's only one of all their kind -----------C'-------C-----------G Could sell me something now; --------C'---------------C There's only one that ever can -----------C'--------C------------G Bring pleasant thoughts to me -- -----C----------------F And that's the little bumboatman, ----------C--------G-----C Who paddles out to sea: -------------F-----------------C With his: "Gotta nice ripa banan, ---------G----------------------------C You buy da beeg orange? He sweet! F-------------------C Gotta cirgarette; lika da fan? ---------G-------G7---------C You lika da fine par-a-keet?"
Now as we watched them rowing out, At first they looked like specks, Just creeping down the bay, 'bout The time we'd swabbed the decks, They'd be hovering 'round like gulls -- Waiting for the mess call hail, We'd break for mess, and in the lulls We'd gather 'long the rail; They'd shout:(CHO)
And on the wonders in each boat We'd feast our hungry eyes, As their little craft would float, We'd bargain for a prize; Coral, shells, and blow-fish dried, Fruit, and Guava jell, Nuts, and gum, and dried snake hide, Lace, and tortoise shell – And their: (CHO)
The bumboatmen are not the breed That lurk in Europe's mart, They barter for their daily need -- Deceit is not their art. If there's reward for toil and strife, When comes the final test, In cheering up a sailor's life -- The Bumboatman's the best; With his: "Gotta nice ripa banan, You buy da beeg orange? He sweet! Gotta cirgarette; lika da fan? You lika da fine parakeet?"
Remember that in the chorus shift to a Calypso beat.