“When I’m discharged at Liverpool ‘n’ draws my bit o’ pay, <br />I won’t come to sea no more; <br />I’ll court a pretty little lass ‘n’ have a weddin’ day, <br />‘N’ settle somewhere down shore; <br />I’ll never fare to sea again a-temptin’ Davy Jones, <br />A-hearkening to the cruel sharks a-hungerin’ for my bones; <br />I’ll run a blushin’ dairy-farm or go a-crackin’ stones, <br />Or buy ‘n’ keep a little liquor-store” &mdash <br />So he said. <br /> <br />They towed her in to Liverpool, we made the hooker fast, <br />And the copper-bound official paid the crew, <br />And Billy drew his money, but the money didn’t last, <br />For he painted the alongshore blue, &mdash <br />It was rum for Poll, and rum for Nan, and gin for Jolly Jack; <br />He shipped a week later in the clothes upon his back; <br />He had to pinch a little straw, he had to beg a sack <br />To sleep on, when his watch was through, &mdash <br />So he did.<br /><br />John Masefield<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hell-s-pavement/
