Chinatown Bumboat

I was strolling down Sand Street one fine summer night
And I spied a fair damsel as she hove in sight.
I ran up my number, to which she replied,
"I'm a Chinatown bumboat going out with the tide,
"I'm a Chinatown bumboat going out with the tide."

I passed her a hawser and took her in tow,
We crossed down the way like a couple should go.
We turned in an alley not too clean or neat,
And we dropped out mudhooks at the end of the street. (And we dropped out mudhooks at the end of the street.

She then led me up to a third-story floor,
And in her fine stateroom I soon laid her o'er.
She cleaned up her courses and her red flag downhaul,
Laid her lily-white hand on me reeftackle-fall.
Laid her lily-white hand on me reeftackle-fall.

I gazed in her sternsheets, saw plenty of room,
And into her hullpipe I shoved my jibboom.
With her fenders o'erhanging like a bent scupper's lip,
Pretty Polly's a pirate who scuttled my ship.
Pretty Polly's a pirate who scuttled my ship.

She rolled and she pitched like a ship in a storm,
And cried out, "Oh, sailor, you're doing me harm!
You're in the wrong port!" she cried out in alarm.
Well, the wrong port be damned, any port in a storm.
Well, the wrong port be damned, any port in a storm.

She burnt down me rigging clean down to the hull,
And back to the sickbay me punt I did scull.
With me foregaps all bent and me mainmast unstrung,
The doctor said, "Sailor, yer jibboom is sprung."
The doctor said, "Sailor, yer jibboom is sprung."

Now I'm lying in sickbay, me stern to the wall,
The Chinatown bumboat the cause of it all.
It's ashes to ashes and dust unto dust,
Tell me, where is the woman a sailor can trust?
Tell me, where is the woman a sailor can trust?