Lyr. Add A-FAL-DE-LAL-DAY

I met a girl in Portland Street,
The sweetest girl I chanced to meet.

Said I, "Young Miss, how do you do?"
Said she, "The worse for meeting you."

"Young Miss," said I, "I like your style."
Said she, "Young man, just wait awhile."

I took her hand and on we trod;
Said she, "Young man, you're rather odd."

And to her room, not far away,
She bade me call another day.

I put my arm around her waist;
Said she, "Young man, you show good taste."

I pulled her down upon my lap;
Said she, "You now deserve a slap."

Her ankle next, I placed my hand;
Said she, "For this I will not stand."

I pulled her dress above her knee;
Said she, "Young man, please let me be."

And why did I no further go?
Alas, her leg was cork, you know.

Sung while pumping, repeating each line "to make the chantey last longer."
With musical score.

Frederick Pease Harlow, 1928, The Making of a Sailor, Dover reprint of Publication number 17 of the Marine Research Society, Salem, MA.