
Home comes the sailor, home from the sea,
he stands on the foc’sle and what does he see
a crowd of happy faces standing on the quay
he thinks my wife’s among them waiting there for me
but he’s not too surprised for this is not to be
she’s run away with Jim who lived at number three.
Love this. And Jim had to live at number 3, not for the rhyme but for Three, three, the rivals (and green grows the rushes O)
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