Traditional - Lyrics from Songs of American Sailormen, by Joanna Colcord
As I came down the Bowery
One evening in July,
I met a maid who asked my trade,
And a sailor John said I,
Then away, you Santy,
My dear Annie,
Oh, you New York girls,
Can't you dance the polka?
To Tiffany's I took her;
I did not mind expense.
I bought her two gold earrings,
They cost me fifteen cents.
She said, "If you're a sailor,
Now take me home you may,"
But when I reached her cottage door
She unto me did say:
"My young man he's a sailor,
With his hair cut short behind;
My young man he's a sailor,
And he sails in the Black Ball line."