On the portside w****s are singing while the rubbers
they are flinging of a night of fornicating
with sailors far away
While the sun it is setting the fishermen are netting the w****s
s**** they are begetting of sailors far away
And the sailors they are ithing their syphillis is twitching a gift
of those bewitching w****s now far away
The sailors they are singing for soon
they will be drowning on the sea
on which they're sailing now so far away
they are flinging of a night of fornicating
with sailors far away
While the sun it is setting the fishermen are netting the w****s
s**** they are begetting of sailors far away
And the sailors they are ithing their syphillis is twitching a gift
of those bewitching w****s now far away
The sailors they are singing for soon
they will be drowning on the sea
on which they're sailing now so far away