Ah, Stormy's gone, that good old man.
Way, high, Stormalong.
Ah, Stormy's gone, that good old man.
Aye, Aye, Mister Stormalong.

Of all the sailors he was best;
But now he's dead and gone to rest.

He slipped his cable off Cape Horn;
Close by the place where he was born.

Well he's moored at last and he's furled his sails;
He's free from wrecks and far from gales.

We dug his grave with a silver spade;
Of the finest silk his shroud was made.

Well we lowered him down with a golden chain;
Each eye was dim but not with rain.

An able seaman bold an' true;
A good ol' skipper to his crew.

Oh, now we'll sing his funeral song;
Oh, roll her over, long and strong.

For fifty years he sailed the seas;
In winter gale and summer breeze.

And so Ol' Stormy's day was done;
South fifty-six, west fifty-one.

Ol' Stormy was a seaman bold;
A grand ol' man o' the days of old.

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