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The old Clipper days were jolly, when we sailed the Seven Seas,
And the house-flags of our merchant ships were whipped by every breeze;
It was good-by to your mother and the pretty girls on shore,
For we're off around the howling Horn, bound down to Singapore.

We romped the rushing trade-winds, and we raced the big monsoon;

We carried reeling royals from Manila to Rangoon;
We were chased by Malay pirates from Natura to Penang,
And we drove her scuppers under to outsail the cut-throat gang.

We went rolling in "The Doldrums" till the tar oozed from our seams;

We went pushing through the ice-pack till the pressure cracked our beams;
And old Mother Carcy's chickens wheeled around us o'er the brine,
While we entertained Old Neptune when he hailed up on the line.

Those were days to be remembered, when our good ship sailed away,

From the old home port behind us, to Calcutta or Bombay;
When we sold the Heathen nations runt and opium in rolls,
And the Missionaries went along to save their sinful souls.

It was "Bundle out, my bullies, and we'll give the sheets a pull"

It was "Ease her off a little, till the topsails stand rap full";
It was "Scrub the decks, my Jackies, and we'll take the sun at noon";
It was "Sou'-sou'-west-half-south, my boy, beneath the Southern moon."

We raced across to Africa with "dicker" in the hold;

We traded beads and calico for ivory and gold;
We raised the Northern Dipper as we sunk the Southern Cross,
And when we figured up the run the owners felt no loss.

Then 'twas "Home again, my bullies," with our bows knee­-deep in foam,

To the mother that was waiting and the happy ones at home;
It was home from old Calcutta or Hong Kong or far Bombay,
To the land we loved to think of when our hearts were far away.


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