As I was a -walkin'
down London Road,
I came to Paddy West's house.
He gave me a feed of American hash
and he called it Liverpool Scouse.
He said, there's a ship
that's a -wantin' hands,
An honour you'll quickly sign.
The mate is a tyrant,
the bow sends worse,
But she will suit you fine.
Put on your dungaree jacket,
And walk up lookin' your best,
And tell them that you're
a poor sailor lad
That came from Pally West
Now when we had to feed me boys
The wind began to blow
He sent me up in the attic
The main royal fort to store
But when I got up in the attic,
no man royal could I find
So I turned around to the window
and I pulled the window blind
Put on your dungaree jacket
an d walk up looking your best
And tell them that you're
a poor sailor lad
That came from Paddy West
Now Paddy he piped all hands on deck
Their stations far to man
His wife she stowed in the doorway
With a bucket in her hand
And Paddy cried out, now let her rip,
and she flung the water our way
Saying, clew up your hoards
to gansel boys,
she's taken in the spray
Put on your downgrade jacket,
and walk up looking your best
And tell them that you're
a poor sailor lad
That came from Paddy West
There's only one thing for you to do
Before you sail away
Just step around the table
With the bullocks on display
And if they ask, you ever at sea?
You can say ten times round the horn.
You can tell them that you're a sailor
since the day that you was born.
Put on your dungaree jacket
an d walk up looking your best.
And tell them that you're
a poor sailor lad
That came from Paddy West