I just posted the original poem to the Old Sailor-Poet thread the other day and then began work on adapting it as a song. The result sounds promising to me.
Here's the original poem by Bill Adams (1879-1953):
There ain't no "Tradesman's Entrance" wrote up above his door, Like you sees on stylish houses on the stylish streets ashore, So's the butcher an' the baker an' the grocer-man can tell Where they'll find him when they wants him, an' there isn't any bell For the butcher an' the grocer an' the baker-man to pull, For there isn't any tradesmen wi' their baskets brimmin' full O' fresh meats, an' veg'tables, an' bread an' cake, an' pie. Ho, the sprays is drivin' over her! She's steerin' full an' bye! She's plungin' an' she's rollin', an' she's flooded fore an' aft, An' the sea cook hums a ditty while he's working at his craft. The sea cook's arms is hairy, an' his hands is strong an' brown, An' his bare breast is all covered wi' tattooin', up an' down, Wi' flags, an' girls, an' anchors. Hoh, she's rollin' hard an' fast, An' the big hailstones is bouncin' high from every spar an' mast! She's leapin' like a wild stag; she's divin' to the seas. Salt pork is on the galley stove, an' soup o' yellow peas. The bright an' shiny mess-kids they are hangin' in a row, As the cook looks from his galley door an' yells to her to go. An' now the wind comes harder, an' the gale begins to roar, An' he throws aside his apron, an' he leaps from out his door. For the old sea cook's a sailor, an' there's canvas comin' in! The chain sheets are a-clatterin' an' kickin' up a din, An' it's time for stowin' tops'ls; the old cook's at his place, With a downhaul in his fingers an' a grin upon his face. Bye an' bye he'll serve out salt pork an' thick soup o' yellow peas; Now he leads a throaty chorus, cryin' challenge to the seas!
Here's what I've done to it: adding in a chorus, dropping a couple of lines, and doing some other minor tinkering (copy into WORD/TIMES/12 to line up chords):
G-----------C-----------------------G-------------------C--------------G Now there ain't no "Tradesman's Entrance" nailed up above his door, ----------C----------------G----------------------------------D Like you sees on stylish houses on the stylish streets a-shore, -------C----------------G--------------C-----------------G So the butcher an' the baker an' the grocer-man can tell ----------------C----------------------G----------------------D---------------G Where they'll find him when they wants him, an' there sure ain't any bell; ----D----------------D7-------------G------------------D-G No fresh fruits an' veg'tables, no bread, no cakes, no pies, ---------A----------------A7----------------D----------------D7 For the spray is drivin' o'er her an' she's steerin' full an' bye! ------------C-------------------G----------------C------------------G Yes, she's plungin' an' she's rollin', an' she's flooded fore an' aft, --------C---------------------G-----------------D--------- D7---G An' the sea cook hums this ditty while he's working at his craft.
Chorus:
G-------C----------------G An' it's haul away that salt pork, -----C---------------G Bile up them yeller peas; ---------C---------------G It's be-yond compare, the bill of fare, ----D------D7-----G Up-on the Seven Seas!
Now the sea cook's arms is hairy, an' his hands is strong an' brown, His bare breast is all covered wi' tattooin' up an' down, Wi' flags, an' gals, an' anchors. Hoh, she's rollin' hard an' fast, An' the big hailstones is bouncin' high from ev'ry yard an' mast! Yes, she's leapin' like a wild thing; she's divin' through the seas. Salt pork is on the galley stove, with a pot o' yeller peas; The bright an' shiny mess-kits they's all rattlin' in a row, As the cook looks out his galley door an' yells "Now, let 'er go!" (CHO)
An' now the wind blows harder, as the gale begins its roar, He throws aside his apron, an' he leaps from out his door; For the old sea cook's a sailor, an' there's canvas comin' in, The chain sheets are a-clatterin' an' kickin' up a din! An' it's time for stowin' tops'ls; the old cook's at his place, With a downhaul in his fingers, an' a big grin on his face; Soon he'll serve out salt pork, an' thick soup o' yeller peas; But now he leads a chorus, cryin' challenge to the seas! (CHO)
I'd best let this one ferment a while before I try to record it and post a link to a MP3 file.