High and dry

With a lady-like devotion, she sails the bitter ocean.
If it wasn't for lovesick sailors, there'd be nothing left but flotsam
singing "Why me? Oh my, is there a better man than I,
I hope you find your way back home before you're lying high and dry,
I hope you find your way back home before you die."

Her sails blow like bubbles while you sip your daily doubles,
if she wasn't so fond of the weather, she might give the deckhands trouble
singing "Why me? Oh my, is there a better man than I,
I hope you find your way back home before you're lying high and dry,
I hope you find your way back home before you die."

One day when I grew older and I found I could not hold her,
she took on a fine young skipper who soon run her up on a boulder
singing "Why me? Oh my, is there a better man than I,
I hope you find your way back home before you're lying high and dry,
I hope you find your way back home before you die."

Now the pleasures of the harbor don't include a lady barber,
if it wasn't for Long John Silver, all of us pirates would've been martyrs
singing "Why me? Oh my, is there a better man than I,
I hope you find your way back home before you're lying high and dry,
I hope you find your way back home before you're lying high and dry,
I hope you find your way back home before you die.