At thirty-two and seven bells
We left the land to lee,
And all we saw was a raging hell
Of foam and storm-torn sea.
And the seas climbed high, and the seas broke hard
As our top mast reeled and swayed,
But she stood the force, and we held our course
For the thirty-three of Kay.

Below the deck, in a galley warm
Worked Janie, Reb, and Still
And they tried to make up something good
Our hungry mouths to fill.
But the twisting seas and the rollicking gale
Made the whole place much too rough.
So they tied themselves into their bunks,
And swore they'd had enough.

The night was pitch, and the howling bitch
Of a storm howled louder still
And we ducked our bow and rose again
In seas as big as hills.
No man could face that awful gale
Without thinking he oughter pray.
And no-one knew if we'd make it through
TO the thirty three of Kay.