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:]   O the E-ri-e was a-rising   And the gin was a-getting low.   And I scarcely think we'll get a drink   Till we get to Buff-a-lo-o-o   Till we get to Buffalo.      We were loaded down with barley   We were chock-full up on rye.   The captain he looked down at me   With his gol-durned wicked eye.      Two days out from Syracuse   The vessel struck a shoal;   We like to all be foundered   On a chunk o' Lackawanna coal.      We hollered to the captain   On the towpath, treadin' dirt   He jumped on board and stopped the leak   With his old red flannel shirt.      The cook she was a grand old gal   Stood six foot in her socks.   Had a foot just like an elephant   And her breath would open locks.      The wind begins to whistle   The waves begin to roll   We had to reef our royals   On that ragin' canal.      The cook came to our rescue   She had a ragged dress;   We h'isted her upon the pole   As a signal of distress.      When we got to Syracuse   Off-mule, he was dead;   The nigh mule got blind staggers   We cracked him on the head.      The cook is in the Police Gazette   The captain went to jail;   And I'm the only son-of-a-sea-cook   That's left to tell the tale.