Grasping Reality on TypePad, by Brad DeLong

And as you wollop round Cape Horn.
You'll wish to God you've never been born.

I wish I was on Australia's strand. 
With a bottle of whiskey in my hand.

In South Australia my native land. 
Full of rocks, and fleas, and thieves, and sand.

I see my wife standing on the quay 
The tears do start as she waves to me.

I'll tell you the truth and I'll tell you no lie; 
If I don't love that girl I hope I may die.

And now I'm bound for a foreign strand, 
With a bottle of whisky in my hand.

I'll drink a glass to the foreign shore 
And one to the girl that I adore.

As I walked out one morning fair.
'Twas there I met Miss Nancy Blair.

I shook her up and I shook her down.
I shook her round and round the town.

I run her all night and I run her all day.
And I run her until we sailed away

There's just one thing that's on my mind.
That's leaving Nancy Blair behind.

Port Adelaide's a grand old town.
There's plenty of girls to go around.

A glass of rum in every hand.
And an extra bottle for the shantyman.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/South_Australia_(song) | https://www.bradford-delong.com/2019/03/south-australia.html

#tceh #shoebox #outtake #notetoself