Harry was a dry-land sailor, and he loved to roam the docks

He tried to woo the ladies with his magic chocolate box

He’d lure them with palaver, enticing them to try

The best of milk or pure, laced with Spanish fly


Oh! never trust a sailor,

or his stories from the sea

And tales of female conquest,

though tempting they may be


Harry’d bought the potion, from a one-eyed Portugee

In a little dark green bottle, for the price of one and three

The seaman had assured him, the stuff would never fail

Then he smiled and hauled up anchor saying “I really must set sail!”


But ladies scorn his offers, never falling for his spell

Ever since young Maggie committed “kiss and tell”

Confessing she’d been peckish, and Harry’d had his way

She said “I didn’t want you love, I wanted your milk-tray”


Harry was downtrodden, his heart was broke in two

She’d finished half his chocolates and some lucky numbers too

But he pulled himself together and wished her all the best

Hoping that he’d have more luck, dishing out the rest


He keeps hoping his love potion will lead him to success

With some attractive lady in a trouser-suit or dress

So now he takes to wandering, and his hair has turned to grey

And all because Harry knows, the ladies love Milk-Tray!