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 O'er the lee-beam is the land, boys; Let the guns o'erboard be thrown; To the pumps come every hand, boys; She our mizen-mast is gone: The leak we've found, it cannot pour fast, We've lighten'd her a foot or more; Up and rig a jury foremast; She rights, she rights, boys! wear off shore.

Now once more on joys we're thinking, Since kind fortune spar'd our lives: Come, the can, boys, let's be drinking, To our sweethearts and our wives. Fill it up, about ship wheel it, Close to th' lips a brimmer join; Where's the tempest now? who fears it? None! our danger's drown'd in wine.

O weel may the boatie row, And better may it speed; And liesome may the boatie row, That wins my bairns' bread; The boatie rows, the boatie rows, The boatie rows indeed; And weel may the boatie row, That wins the bairns' bread.

When Jamie vow'd he wad be mine, And wan frae me my heart,