We Were Forty Miles From Albany,

Forget It, I Never Shall!

What A Terrible Storm We Had One Night

On The E-ri-e Canal.



Chorus:

Oh, The E-ri-e Was A-rising,

And Gin Was Getting Low,

And I Scarcely Think

We're Gonna Get A Little Drink

Till We Get To Buffalo-o-o,

Till We Get To Buffalo.



We Were Loaded Down With Barley,

We Were Loaded Down With Rye,

And The Captain, He Looked At Me

With A Gol-durn Wicked Eye.



Chorus



The Captain He Come Up On Deck

With A Spyglass In His Hand

But The Fog It Was So Tarn-ol' Thick

That He Couldn't Spy The Land



Chorus



The Cook She Was A Grand Ol' Gal,

She Had A Ragged Dress.

And We Hoisted Her Upon A Pole

As A Signal Of Distress.



Chorus



Well, The Captain, He Got Married,

And The Cook, She Went To Jail;

And I'm The Only Son-of-a-gun

That's Left To Tell The Tale.