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
