The Barentsz

 

Youíre up to your neck

In the blubber and blood

And youíve given up praying

Itís done you no good

You steady yourself

Stand up to the gale

When you sail on the Barentsz

Hunting the whale

 

Four to a cabin

You own filthy cot

Your boots and your clobber

Are all that you got

Out on the deck

Twelve hours a day

Feeding the kettles

And fighting the spray

 

And the bonus

Is driving you on

The bonus

Will make you a man

You donít feel any pain

Donít care for the cold

When youíve thousands of barrels

Of oil in the hold

 

The man at the gun

He fires the harpoon

Aims for the heart

Weíll haul her in soon

We cut off the fins

Put our mark on the tail

Youíre counting the barrels

Hunting the whale

 

You keep your mouth shut

Do what youíre told

As the meat is cut up and

Fed to the hold

Where the lads down below

They cook and they boil

Their devils machines

Turn the catch into oil

 

Heading back home

When the season is done

Youíve finished your quota

And winter has come

The old wooden decking

Is flung overboard

Grease in the grain

And soaking in blood

 

And the bonus

Is driving you on

The bonus

Will make you a man

You donít feel any pain

Donít care for the cold

When youíve thousands of barrels

Of oil in the hold

 

The bonus

Wonít set you free

Youíre a slave to the bonus

And a slave to the sea

Your sign up again

When the new season comes

And go chasing the bonus

Till whaling is done