Bert Jansch
My Donald
My Donald he works on the sea
Where the waves they blow wild and free
He splices the ropes, he sets the sail.
Southward he goes, in search of the whale
He never thinks of me left behind
Nor the torments that rage in my mind
He's mine for only half part of the year
Then leaves me behiínd, with nothing but a tear
Oh you ladies who smell the wild rose
Think for the perfume to where a man goes
Think of the women, the children that yearn
For men never return from hunting the sperm
Oh my Donald he works on the sea
Where the waves they blow wild and free
He splices the ropes, he sets the sail.
Southward he goes, in search of the whale
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