Letras: Pogues, The. Greeenland Whale Fisheries.

:
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, brave boys,

And for Greenland sailed away.



The lookout in the crosstrees 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, brave boys

She blows at every span.



The captain stood on the quarter deck,

The ice was in his eye;

Overhaul, overhaul! Let your gibsheets fall,

And you'll put your boats to sea, brave boys

And you'll put your boats to sea.



Our 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 the whale, brave boys,

And we did not catch the 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, brave boys

Now it grieved him ten times more.



Oh Greenland is a barren land

A land that bares no green

Where there's ice and snow, and the whalefishes blow

And the daylight's seldom seen, brave boys

And the daylight's seldom seen.