Eight Guilders Short

I sold my soul to the devil you know,
never made it home before dark.
Fell in love with every pair of big brown eyes,
but she's always been the one in my heart.

Turned it all over and couldn't make a cent
-just trying to do the best that I can-
So it's all cold cocked and sleeping it off
and "didn't your name used to be Dan?"

We were three weeks out when we came in,
put two dozen sailors ashore,
and it's hard times when you're away the next morning,
but it's payday for some Felixstowe whore.

- Can't help but remember the day that I left her,
on the harbour wall in the rain.
She kissed me goodbye but I could see in her eyes
she didn't believe I'd come back again. -

Well it's gusting sevens and swinging to the north,
looks like we're in for heavy weather,
so batton down the hatches and take in a reef,
and best keep your dreams on a teather.

We made passage on a four day haul,
braving the wind, the rain and the cold,
while in London town, brokers met
and the vessel she was sold.

So i'm sitting here on the harbour wall
trying to bum a cigarette.
"And I'm sorry kid, but there aint no such thing as love,
just a girl that I can't forget."

And I've never felt so gut sick
not in the worst of the North Sea foam
than eight guilders short, in some damn dutch port,
and I just want to go home.