| Lyrics: | FRIGGIN IN THE RIGGIN
Friggin in the riggin,
Friggin in the riggin,
Friggin in the riggin,
There's nothing else to do.
Twas back in '69,
We
left the Black Ball Line,
The crew did cry as we went by,
For we'd left our mates
behind.
Twas back in '63,
When the captain he went to sea,
Born of a whore, was
cast ashore,
A son of the beach was he.
A cook whose name was Davey,
Was
cashiered from the Navy,
He dipped the bread inside the head,
And served it up as
gravy.
The bosun's mate was Andy
A Portsmouth man and randy,
He used to cool
his favorite tool
In a glass of the skipper's brandy.
The cabin boy was
chipper,
A nasty little nipper.
He lined his ass with broken glass
And circumsised
the skipper.
@sailor @bawdy
filename[ FRGGING
JY
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