home | news | disco | mp3 | paroles | tabs | photos | presse | forum | liens |

My donal


Ecrite par Owen Hand


My Donald he works on the sea
On the waves that blow wild and free
He splices the ropes and he sets the sails
While southward he goes to the home of the whales

Never thinks of me far behind
Or the torments that rage in my mind
He's mine for only part of the year
I'm left all alone missing his graces near

And you ladies that smell of wild rose
Think you for your essence to where a man goes
Think you of the wives and the [loveys ?] that yearn
For a man not returning from hunting the sperm

My Donald he works on the sea
On the waves that blow wild and free
He splices the ropes and he sets the sails
While southward he goes to the home of the whales