Оригинален текст
We were forty miles from albany,
forget it, i never shall!
what a terrible storm we had one night
on the e-ri-e canal.
Chorus:
oh, the e-ri-e was a-rising,
and gin was getting low,
and i scarcely think
we're gonna get a little drink
till we get to buffalo-o-o,
till we get to buffalo.
We were loaded down with barley,
we were loaded down with rye,
and the captain, he looked at me
with a gol-durn wicked eye.
Chorus
The captain he come up on deck
with a spyglass in his hand
but the fog it was so tarn-ol' thick
that he couldn't spy the land
Chorus
The cook she was a grand ol' gal,
she had a ragged dress.
and we hoisted her upon a pole
as a signal of distress.
Chorus
Well, the captain, he got married,
and the cook, she went to jail;
and i'm the only son-of-a-gun
that's left to tell the tale.