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As I was a walkin' down London Road I come to Paddy West's house
He gave me a feed of American hash and he called it Liverpool scouse
He said “There's a ship that's a wantin' hands and on her you'll quickly sign
The mate is a tyrant, the bosun's worse, but she will suit you fine.”

Put on yer dungaree jacket
And walk up lookin' your best
And tell them that you're a poor sailor lad
That came from Paddy West

Now when we had a feed, me boys, the wind began to blow
He sent me in the attic the main-royal for to stow
But when I got up in the attic no main-royal could I find
So I turned around to the window and I pulled the window blind

Put on yer dungaree jacket
And walk up lookin' your best
And tell them that you're a poor sailor lad
That came from Paddy West

Now Paddy he piped hands on deck, their stations for to man
His wife she stood in the doorway with a bucket in her hand
And Paddy cried out, “Now let 'er rip!” and she flung the water our way
Saying, “Clew up your fore t'gan'sl, boys, she's takin' in the spray!”

Put on yer dungaree jacket
And walk up lookin' your best
And tell them that you're a poor sailor lad
That came from Paddy West

There's only one thing for you to do before you sail away
Just step around the table with with the bullocks on display
And if they ask “Were you ever at sea?” you can say, ‘Three times round the horn.'
You can tell ‘em that you were a sailor since the day that you was born.”

Put on yer dungaree jacket
And walk up lookin' your best
And tell them that you're a poor sailor lad
That came from Paddy West.

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