As I was a-walking down London Road
I came to Paddy West's house
He gave me a feed of American hash;
And He called it Liverpool scouse

He said "There's a ship that's a-wanting hands
And on her you'll quickly sign
The mate is a tyrant, the bosun's worse
But she will suit you fine"

Put on yer dungaree jacket
And walk up looking your best
And tell them that you're a poor sailor lad
That came from Paddy West

Now when we had a feed me, boys
The wind began to blow
He sent me up in the attic
The main-royal for to stow

But when I got up in the attic
No main-royal could I find
So I turned around to the window
And I pulled the window blind

Put on yer dungaree jacket
And walk up looking your best
And tell them that you're a poor sailor lad
That came from Paddy West

Now Paddy he piped 'all hands on deck'
Their stations for to man
His wife she stood in the doorway
With a bucket in her arm

And Paddy cried out, "Now let 'er rip!"
And she flung the water our way
Saying "Clew up your fore t'gan'sl, boys
She's taking in the spray!"

Put on yer dungaree jacket
And walk up looking your best
And tell them that you're a poor sailor lad
That came from Paddy West

There's only one thing for you to do
Before you sail away
Just step around the table
With the bullock's on display

And if they ask "Were you ever at sea?"
You can say "Ten times 'round the Horn"
You can tell 'em that you're a sailor
Since the day that you was born

Put on yer dungaree jacket
And walk up looking your best
And tell them that you're a poor sailor lad
That came from Paddy West