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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 riverbank weeps with 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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And 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 fishheads and tails |
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He will show you his teeth that have rotted too soon |
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That can swallow the moon, that can haul up the sails |
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And he yells 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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Then he wants so to belch but he's too full to try |
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So he gets up and 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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Till the rancid sound of the accordion bursts |
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Then out to the night with their pride in their pants |
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With the slut that they tow underneath the street lamps |
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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've bargained their bodies and their virtue long gone |
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For a few dirty coins, and when he can't go on |
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He plants his nose in the sky 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 |
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In the port of Amsterdam |
