They say the storm will pass,
but it came up fast;
I know the last time
that this hemp line
came whipping 'round the mast,
it cut fine the iron cast.

I weather the typhoon,
a tempest in a teapot,
riding out massive waves
in the bucking seas;
the surf kicks as the rigging clicks,
but I ride out my simple squall.

I know in my heart, my spirit ne'er broken,
although I can't shift the yoke,
while under its weight my back and neck crack,
all I can do is ride out the storm, with a red scarf 'cross my throat;
all I can do it ride out and pray, oh lord, my soul, to keep hope afloat.

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