The Pumping Song

(Sung to the approximate tune of ‘The Runaway Train goes over the hill and she blew and she blew’

the ‘|’ symbols mark the beats in 6-8 time)

We’re |pumping our |way a|cross the At|lantic on a |leaky |old ||yacht,

The |Skipper’s a |tartar, the |Mate’s a |farter and the |garboard’s |full of ||rot,

Chorus –

There’s |plenny of |whisky and |plenny of |beer,  but |nobody’s |sober e|nough to |steer,

|I |don’t |want to |die, be|fore we |get |over the |pond!

Richard the Skipper ‘e smokes like a kipper and smells twice as bad,

He makes us all think of the evils of drink, and what it’s like to go mad!

Chorus

Jana the Mate has an estate in the grand old City of Leeds,

It’s a fine printers but she spends her winters, caulking our decks on her knees!

Peter the Chief gave us some grief clearing match-sticks out of the loo,

He put in his head, turned the tap on instead and came out covered in poo!

Dick the Cook fancied a look up the skirts of all the girls,

One day ‘e got lucky and ‘e said ‘Oh ducky’ and ‘is ‘ead went into a swirl!

Callidus is fine, she’s got a good line, her decks are made of teak,

She leaks like a bucket but we said ‘Chuck it’ and sailed her to Antigue-a.

We set off from Levington and put on our wellingtons on a Tuesday in the morn,

Down the old Orwell didn’t we roar well, blowing the ship’s horn!

Sailing Harwich to Ramsgate was a gas until Richard got us lost,

We were going rover by the Gunfleet over and nearly went aground!

And so on…ad infinitum!

Original idea by Dick with contributions from the various crew to Plymouth