In eighteen hundred and forty-six
And of March the eighteenth day,
We hoisted our colors to the top of the mast
And for Greenland sailed away,
And for Greenland sailed away.
The lookout, in the crosstrees he stood
With spyglass in his hand;
There's a whale!, There's a whale!,
And A whalefish! he cried
And she blows at every span,
And she blows at every span.
The captain stood on the quarterdeck,
The ice was in his eye;
Overhaul, overhaul! Let your jibsheets fall,
And you'll put your boats to sea,
And you'll put your boats to sea.
The harpoon struck and the line played out,
With a single flourish of his tail,
He capsized the boat and we lost five men,
And we did not catch that whale,
And we did not catch that whale.
The losing of those five jolly men,
It grieved the captain sore,
But the losing of that fine whalefish
Now it grieved him ten times more,
Now it grieved him ten times more.
Oh Greenland is a barren land
A land that bears no green
Where there's ice and snow, and the whalefishes blow
And the daylight's seldom seen,
And the daylight's seldom seen.
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