Now there ain't no "Tradesman's Entrance" nailed up above his door,
Like you sees on stylish houses on the stylish streets ashore,
So the butcher an' the baker an' the grocer-man can tell
Where they'll find him when they wants him, an' there sure ain't any bell;
No fresh fruits an' veg'tables, no bread, no cakes, no pies,
For the spray is flyin' o'er her an' she's sailin' full an' bye!
Yes, she's plungin' an' she's rollin', an' she's flooded fore an' aft,
An' the sea cook hums this ditty as he's working at his craft.

Chorus:
An' it's haul away that salt pork,
Bile up them yeller peas;
It's beyond compare, the bill of fare,
Upon the Seven Seas!

Now the sea cook's arms is hairy, an' his hands is strong an' brown,
His bare chest is all covered wi' tattooin' up an' down,
Wi' flags, an' gals, an' anchors; now she's rollin' hard an' fast,
An' the big hailstones is bouncin' high from ev'ry yard an' mast!
Yes, she's leapin' like a wild thing; she's divin' through the seas.
Salt pork is on the galley stove, an' a pot o' yeller peas;
The bright an' shiny mess-kits they's all rattlin' in a row,
As the cook looks out his galley door an' yells "Now, let 'er go!"

(Chorus)

An' now the wind blows harder, as the gale begins its roar,
He throws aside his apron, an' he leaps from out his door;
For the old sea cook's a sailor, an' there's canvas comin' in,
The chain sheets are a-clatterin' an' kickin' up a din!
An' it's time for stowin' tops'ls; the old cook's at his place,
With a downhaul in his fingers, an' a big grin on his face;
Soon he'll serve out salt pork, an' a soup o' yeller peas;
But now he leads a chorus cryin' challenge to the seas!

(Chorus)

There ain't no "Tradesman's Entrance" wrote up above his door,
Like you sees on stylish houses on the stylish streets ashore,
So's the butcher an' the baker an' the grocer-man can tell
Where they'll find him when they wants him, an' there isn't any bell
For the butcher an' the grocer an' the baker-man to pull,
For there isn't any tradesmen wi' their baskets brimmin' full
O' fresh meats, an' veg'tables, an' bread an' cake, an' pie.
Ho, the sprays is drivin' over her! She's steerin' full an' bye!
She's plungin' an' she's rollin', an' she's flooded fore an' aft,
An' the sea cook hums a ditty while he's working at his craft.
The sea cook's arms is hairy, an' his hands is strong an' brown,
An' his bare breast is all covered wi' tattooin', up an' down,
Wi' flags, an' girls, an' anchors. Hoh, she's rollin' hard an' fast,
An' the big hailstones is bouncin' high from every spar an' mast!
She's leapin' like a wild stag; she's divin' to the seas.
Salt pork is on the galley stove, an' soup o' yellow peas.
The bright an' shiny mess-kids they are hangin' in a row,
As the cook looks from his galley door an' yells to her to go.
An' now the wind comes harder, an' the gale begins to roar,
An' he throws aside his apron, an' he leaps from out his door.
For the old sea cook's a sailor, an' there's canvas comin' in!
The chain sheets are a-clatterin' an' kickin' up a din,
An' it's time for stowin' tops'ls; the old cook's at his place,
With a downhaul in his fingers an' a grin upon his face.
Bye an' bye he'll serve out salt pork an' thick soup o' yellow peas;
Now he leads a throaty chorus, cryin' challenge to the seas!