Traditional Irish Folk
My Donald
Oh my Donald he works upon the sea
On the waves that blow wild and free
He splices the ropes and he sets the sails
While southward he rolls to the home of the whale
And he ne'er thinks of me far behind
Nor the torments that rage in my mind
He's mine for only part of the year
And I'm left all alone with only my tears
Oh you ladies that smell of wild rose
Think you of the perfume to where the man goes
Think you of the wives and the babies that yearn
For the man ne'er returns from hunting the sperm
Oh my Donald he works upon the sea
On the waves that blow wild and free
He splices the ropes and he sets the sails
While southward he rolls to the home of the whale