Pipe all hands to man the windlass.
See our cable running clear.
As we heave away the anchor,
For old England we will steer.
Rolling home, rolling home,
Rolling home across the sea.
Rolling home to dear old England,
Rolling home, fair land, to thee.
Let us all heave with a will, boys,
Soon our cable we will trip,
And across the briny ocean
We will steer our gallant ship.
Man the bars; heave with a will, lads,
Let all hands that can clap on;
And while we heave round the capstan
We will sing that well-known song.
To Australia's lovely daughters
We will bid a fond adieu.
We shall ne'er forget the hours
That we spent along with you.
We will leave you our best wishes,
We will leave your rocky shores.
For we're bound to dear Old England,
To return to you no more.
Up aloft amongst the rigging
Blows the wild and rushing gale,
Straining every spar and backstay,
Stretching stitch in every sail.
Eighteen months away from England,
Now a hundred days or more
On salt-horse and cracker-hash, boys,
Boston beans that made us sore.
Eastwards, ever eastwards
To the rising of the sun.
Homewards, ever homewards
To the land where we were born
Ten thousand miles now lay behind us,
Ten thousand miles or more to roam.
Soon we'll see our native country,
Soon we'll greet our dear old home.
Round Cape Horn one winter's morning,
All among the ice and snow
You could hear them shellbacks singing,
``Sheet her home, boys, let her go!''
Heave away, you sons-of-thunder,
For the nor'ard we will steer,
Where the gals and wives are waiting,
Standing there upon the pier.
Cheer up, Jack, bright smiles await you
From the fairest of the fair.
There are loving hearts to greet you
And kind welcomes everywhere.
And the gal you love most dearly,
She's been constant, firm and true.
She will clap you to her bosom,
Saying, ``Jack, I still love you.''
And we'll sing in joyful chorus
In the watches of the night,
And we'll greet the shores of England
When the grey dawn breaks the light