In eighteen hundred and forty-six

Twas march the eighteenth day,

We hoisted our colors to the top of the mast

And for Greenland boor away, brave boys,

And for Greenland boor away



The lookout in the crosstrees stood

With a spyglass in his hand;

Theres a whale, theres a whale,

A whalefish he cried

And she blows at every span, brave boys

And she blows at every span.



Now the boats were launched and the men aboard,

And the whale was full in view.

Resolved it was each seaman bold

To steer it where the whalefish blew, brave boys

To steer it where the whalefish blew.



We stuck that whale and the line played out,

And the whale made a flounder with her tail,

The boat capsized and we lost a gallant crew,

And we never caught that whale, brave boys,

And we never caught that whale.



To lose those men, our captain said,

It grieves my heart full sore,

But lose the sale of a hundred barrel whale

Well it grieves me ten times more, brave boys

Well it grieves me ten times more



Now Greenland is a dreadful place

A place that’s never green

Where theres ice and snow, and the whalefishes blow

And the daylights seldom seen brave boys

And the daylights seldom seen.