John Masefield: Mother Carey

Album cover art for "John Masefield: Mother Carey" by V. C. Clinton-Baddeley

V. C. Clinton-Baddeley - Pop

John Masefield: Mother Carey

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Duration: 8:25

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Lyrics

Mother Carey? She's the mother o' the witches 'N' all them sort o' rips; She 's a fine gell to look at, but the hitch is She 's a sight too fond of ships She lives upon a iceberg to the norred 'N' her man he 's Davy Jones 'N' she combs the weeds upon her forred With pore drowned sailors' bones She 's the mother o' the wrecks, 'n' the mother Of all big winds as blows; She 's up to some deviltry or other When it storms, or sleets, or snows The noise of the wind 's her screamin' " I'm arter a plump, young, fine Brass-buttoned, beefy-ribbed young seam'n So as me 'n' my mate kin dine. " She 's a hungry old rip 'n' a cruel For sailor-men like we She 's give a many mariners the gruel 'N' a long sleep under sea She 's the blood o' many a crew upon her 'N' the bones of many a wreck 'N' she 's barnacles a-growin' on her 'N' shark's teeth round her neck I ain't never had no schoolin' Nor read no books like you But I knows 't ain't healthy to be foolin' With that there gristly two You're young, you thinks, 'n' you're lairy But if you're to make old bones Steer clear, I says, o' Mother Carey 'N' that there Davy Jones

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Credits

Writers
  • John Masefield