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Up on the poop deck and walkin’ all about
There’s the second mate so steady and so stout
What he is a-thinkin’ of, he doesn’t know himself
We wish that he would hurry up and strike, strike the bell.

Strike the bell second mate, let us go below
Look ye well to windward, you can see it’s going to blow
Look at the glass, you can see that it has fell
We wish that you would hurry up and strike, strike the bell!

Down on the main deck and workin’ at the pumps,
There’s the bloody crew, just longin’ for their bunks
They look out to windward and they see a great big swell
They’re wishin’ that the second mate would strike, strike the bell

Up on the fo’c’sle head and keepin’ sharp lookout
Black Dog Nate stands, a-longin’ for to shout
The lights are burnin’ brightly, sir, and everything is swell
We wish that you would hurry up and strike, strike the bell.

Aft at the wheelhouse, The Last Mate stands
Clutchin’ at the wheel with his frostbitten hands
He’s lookin’ at the compass, and his course is clear as hell
He’s wishin’ that the second mate would strike, strike the bell.

Up on the quarter deck, our gallant captain stands
Lookin’ out to seaward with a spyglass in her hands
What she is a-thinkin’ of, we know very well,
She’s thinkin’ more of shortenin’ sail than strikin’ the bell!

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