Our packet is the Island Lass
    Lowlands, lowlands, lowlands, low

There's a laddie howlin' at the main topmast

Our skipper comes from Barbados

He's got the name of Hammer Toes

He feeds us bread as hard as brass

Our junk's as salt as a bailer's arse

The monkey wears a sailor's clothes

Now, where he got 'em from, God only knows

It's up aloft that yard must go

Up aloft from down below

We'll haul 'em high and let 'em dry

We'll trice 'em up into the sky

Lowlands, me boys, and up she goes

Get changed, me boys, for your shore-going clothes