If your hammock it is dirty, and you know no reason why, Then you must scrub it in the head, carry it on a boat-hook to dry. There’s a man on our lower deck, he is called Jondy Cross; If I had my will of him, I’d overboard him toss. But when on shore the bully comes, if with him you should fall in, The w----e that gives to him a drubbing shall have a gown and a gallon of gin. So now to conclude, and finish my song; I am a saucy mizen-top man, to the _Vanguard_ does belong. But if to sea I go again, I’d sooner swing in a halter, Before I’d sail in any ship commanded by Mickey Walker. _THE PORT ADMIRAL._ ’Twas at the landing place that’s just below Mount Wyse, Poll leaned against the sentry’s box, a tear in both her eyes: Her apron twisted round her arms, all for to keep them warm, Being a windy Christmas Day, and also a snow-storm. And Bet and Sue Both stood there too, A-shivering by her side; They both were dumb, And both look’d glum As they watched the ebbing tide. Poll put her arms a-kimbo: At the admiral’s house look’d she; To thoughts before in limbo, She now a vent gave free. You have sent the ship in a gale to work, On a lee-shore to be jammed; I’ll give you a piece of my mind, old Turk: Port Admiral, you be damned. CHORUS. _We’ll give you a piece of our mind, old Turk: Port Admiral, you be damned._ Whoever heard in the sarvice of a frigate made to sail On Christmas Day, it blowing hard, with sleet, and snow, and hail? I wish I had the fishing of your back that is so bent, I’d use the galley poker hot, unto your heart’s content. Here Bet and Sue Are with me too, A-shivering by my side; They both are dumb, And both look glum, And watch the ebbing tide. Poll put her arms a-kimbo: At the admiral’s house looked she; To thoughts that were in limbo, She now a vent gave free. You’ve got a roaring fire, I’ll bet: In it your toes are jammed; Let’s give him a piece of our mind, my Bet: Port Admiral, you be damned! CHORUS. _Let’s give him a piece of our mind, my Bet: Port Admiral, you be damned._