Call all hands to man the capstan,
see the cable run down clear.
Heave away, and with a will,
boys, for Old England we will steer.
Ref.:
Rolling home, rolling home, rolling home
across the sea
Rolling home to dear old England, rolling home, dear land, to thee.
Many thousand miles behind us,
Many thousand miles before,
Ancient oceans have to waft us
To the well-remembered shore.
Now Australia we are leaving,
for Old England give a cheer.
Fare-ye-well, y3e dark-eyed damels,
give three cheers for England beer.
Eastward, eastward, ever eastward,
to the rising of the sun;
we have steered ever eastward
since our voyage has begun
Goodbye, Heads, we`re bound to leave you.
Haul the tow-rope all in-board.
We will leave Old Aussie starnwards,
clap all sail we can afford.
Off Cape Horn on a winter's morning,
setting sails in ice and snow,
you could hear the shell-backs calling:
Hoist away and let her go!
Eighten months away from England,
only fifty days, no more.
On salt horse and cracker-hash, boys,
Boston beans that make us sore.
Now the Lizzard Light`s a-shining,
and we`re bound up to the Nore.
With the canvas full a drawing,
soon we`ll be on England`s shore.
see the cable run down clear.
Heave away, and with a will,
boys, for Old England we will steer.
Ref.:
Rolling home, rolling home, rolling home
across the sea
Rolling home to dear old England, rolling home, dear land, to thee.
Many thousand miles behind us,
Many thousand miles before,
Ancient oceans have to waft us
To the well-remembered shore.
Now Australia we are leaving,
for Old England give a cheer.
Fare-ye-well, y3e dark-eyed damels,
give three cheers for England beer.
Eastward, eastward, ever eastward,
to the rising of the sun;
we have steered ever eastward
since our voyage has begun
Goodbye, Heads, we`re bound to leave you.
Haul the tow-rope all in-board.
We will leave Old Aussie starnwards,
clap all sail we can afford.
Off Cape Horn on a winter's morning,
setting sails in ice and snow,
you could hear the shell-backs calling:
Hoist away and let her go!
Eighten months away from England,
only fifty days, no more.
On salt horse and cracker-hash, boys,
Boston beans that make us sore.
Now the Lizzard Light`s a-shining,
and we`re bound up to the Nore.
With the canvas full a drawing,
soon we`ll be on England`s shore.