letra de john masefield: mother carey - v. c. clinton-baddeley
mother carey? she’s the mother o’ the witches
‘n’ all them sort o’ rips;
she ‘s a fine gell to look at, but the hitch is
she ‘s a sight too fond of ships
she lives upon a iceberg to the norred
‘n’ her man he ‘s davy jones
‘n’ she combs the weeds upon her forred
with pore drowned sailors’ bones
she ‘s the mother o’ the wrecks, ‘n’ the mother
of all big winds as blows;
she ‘s up to some deviltry or other
when it storms, or sleets, or snows
the noise of the wind ‘s her screamin’
” i’m arter a plump, young, fine
brass-b-ttoned, beefy-ribbed young seam’n
so as me ‘n’ my mate kin dine. ”
she ‘s a hungry old rip ‘n’ a cruel
for sailor-men like we
she ‘s give a many mariners the gruel
‘n’ a long sleep under sea
she ‘s the blood o’ many a crew upon her
‘n’ the bones of many a wreck
‘n’ she ‘s barnacles a-growin’ on her
‘n’ shark’s t–th round her neck
i ain’t never had no schoolin’
nor read no books like you
but i knows ‘t ain’t healthy to be foolin’
with that there gristly two
you’re young, you thinks, ‘n’ you’re lairy
but if you’re to make old bones
steer clear, i says, o’ mother carey
‘n’ that there davy jones
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