[Verse 1] Oh the wind blew cold off the Blackrock shoal And it rattled our bones like chain We were fifteen souls and a captain old Chasing one last freight of grain We raised that rag in the dawn’s gray bruise Tar-stained hands and twine And the gulls they screamed like widows’ news As we crossed that crooked line [Chorus] So heave My lads Heave Blood in the brine and salt in the sleeve If I go down where the black waves weave Sing my name to the keel Boys Leave me Heave My lads Heave Ropes bite deep and the planks they breathe If I sleep cold where the long weeds cleave Pour one more for the blood in the brine [Verse 2] There’s a mark on the mast where the lightning split On a night that the sky turned green And the cook went over in the chaos of it Never found Never more was seen We nailed his cup to the galley door So it rattles in every gale And we drink his share when the watch runs sore Just to taste that old ghost’s tale [Chorus] So heave My lads Heave Blood in the brine and salt in the sleeve If I go down where the black waves weave Sing my name to the keel Boys Leave me Heave My lads Heave Ropes bite deep and the planks they breathe If I sleep cold where the long weeds cleave Pour one more for the blood in the brine [Bridge] (Oh) Who’ll mend my coat if the seams give way? (Oh) Who’ll keep my pipe when I’m bone and clay? I’ve a lock of hair in a leather braid From a girl on the Mersey quay If the tide takes me Let the river trade Carry word of the likes of me [Chorus] So heave My lads Heave Blood in the brine and salt in the sleeve If I go down where the black waves weave Sing my name to the keel Boys Leave me Heave My lads Heave Ropes bite deep and the planks they breathe If I sleep cold where the long weeds cleave Pour one more for the blood in the brine

folk, Raw a cappella sea shanty with male vocals, heavy wooden stomps and wide handclaps marking a swinging 6/8. Verses stay close and raspy in unison, then bloom into stacked gang harmonies in the chorus. Call-and-response on key lines, with the lead voice cracked and weathered, like shouted over storm winds. Roomy tavern reverb, boots on boards up front in the mix, building to a shouted final refrain that cuts off on a hard stomp., raw, shanty, ballad, a cappella, rhythmic, male vocals

Blood in the Brine