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In the port of Amsterdam, there's a sailor who sings |
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Of the dreams that he brings from the wide open sea |
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In the port of Amsterdam, there's a sailor who sleeps |
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While the river-bank weeps to the old willow tree |
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In the port of Amsterdam, there's a sailor who dies |
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Full of beer, full of cries, in a drunken down fight |
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But in the port of Amsterdam, there's a sailor who's born |
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On a muggy hot morn, by the dawn's early light |
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In the port of Amsterdam, where the sailors all meet |
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There's a sailor who eats only fish-heads and -tails |
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And he'll show you his teeth that have rotted too soon |
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That can drink down the moon, that can haul up the sails |
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And he turns to the cook, with his arms open wide |
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"Bring me more fish, put it down by my side" |
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And he wants so to belch, but he's too full to try |
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So he gets up and he laughs, and he zips up his fly |
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In the port of Amsterdam, you can see sailors dance |
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Paunches bursting their pants, grinding women to paunch |
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They've forgotten the tune that their whiskey-voice croaks |
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Splitting the night with the roar of their jokes |
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And they turn and they dance and they laugh and they lust |
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Til the rancid sound of the accordion bursts |
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And it's into the night with their pride in their pants |
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And the slut that they tow underneath the streetlamps |
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In the port of Amsterdam there's a sailor who drinks |
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And he drinks, and he drinks, and he drinks once again |
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He drinks to the health of the whores of Amsterdam |
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Who have promised their love to a thousand other men |
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They have bargained their bodies, their virtues all gone |
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For a few dirty coins, and when he can't go on |
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He puts his nose in the air, and he wipes it up above |
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And he pisses like I cry for an unfaithful love |
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In the port of Amsterdam, in the port of Amsterdam |
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In the port of Amsterdam |
