The sailors sing their dangers o'er,
When sailing on the high seas;
Says Donald frae Fife, "I've left the North,
Where Parry wad lost his ideas."
"Come, d--n!" says Durham lad, "leet my pipe,
And give us nyen o' your yarn reels;
But pay the quart--Ise be the next,
We'll hev a spree at Armfield's."