Shanghaied Dredger
Hymnal Index | Ship's Company Website
Upon the far-off Eastern Shore an oyster dredger lay
With the seat worn out of his oilskin pants, his hat had blown away
His clothes were rather seedy, and his chance he knew was slim
Of ever reaching Baltimore in the pungy he was in
CHORUS:
Then lay me in the forepeak with my face toward Baltimore
Saying I'll never get shanghaied again out on the Eastern Shore
Where they feed you on corn dog and sourbelly twice a day
And you're counted a lucky dredger if you ever get your pay
In spirit he could fancy himself in a restaurant again
Ordering plates of liver for himself and Shorty McClean
The dredgers stood around him, their eyes could scarcely see
From drinking five cent whisky, oh what a glorious spree
Our steward he was a coloured man, the best cook in the fleet
At making india rubber bread he never could be beat
His shadow soup was excellent, and on a Christmas day
We'd eat dead duck that he'd pick up while sailing dow the Bay
It was on one chilly evening after working all the day
Our captain spied with his telescope the police sloop far away
With sails trimmed aft and topsails set our gallant pungy flew
Over to the forbidden ground to catch a jag or two
But scarce we'd started working when the police sloop hove in sight
"Haul down your jib" was his command, and then began the fight
The captain hauled his pistol out as the sloop to round us tried
But we raised our dredge and made away upon the foggy tide