Erie Canal

Tommy Makem

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.


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.


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


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.


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.