The Dead Horse Chantey

The Dead Horse Chantey

Traditional - Lyrics from Songs of The Sailor, by Glenn Grasso and Marc Bernier


A poor old man come riding by,
And we say so, and we hope so.
A poor old man come riding by,
Oh, poor old horse.

Says I, "Old man, your horse will die,"
Says I, "Old man, your horse will die."

And if he dies we'll tan his skin,
And if he don't we'll ride him again.

For one long month I rode him hard,
For one long month we all rode him hard.

But now your month is up, old Turk,
Get up, you swine, and look for work.

Get up you swine and look for graft,
While we lays on and drags ye aft.

He's as dead as a nail in the lamp-room door,
And he won't come worrying us no more.

We'll use the hair of his tail to sew our sails,
And the iron of his shoe to make deck nails.

We'll hoist him up to the fore yard-arm,
Where he won't do sailors any harm.

We'll drop him down with a long, long roll,
Where the sharks will have his body and the devil take his soul.