Sing a song of steerage, for that's the place to be,
Seven quid will do it, and seven days at sea,
Seven grey December days, keeping near the rail—
And all the little candles are waiting on the tree!
Seven days of porridge, and cabbages, and pork,
Seven days of steerage-deck, swinging as you walk,
And then the dark blue water is turning yellow-brown
There's the dear old Statue—and it's Christmas in New York!
You who cross the Channel from Dover to Calais,
You who dress for dinner and go first-class all the way,
I wonder will you ever know the thrill that I shall feel
When the stately old Caronia goes rolling up the Bay!
It's a greasy queasy business, a-travelling in the third
Where the meat is mostly horses and the milk is chiefly curd,
But it's better to go steerage than not to go at all—
You'll be jolly glad you did it, I give my plighted word.
Then sing a song of steerage, for that's the place to be
Seven quid will do it, and seven days at sea
Seven grey December days, keeping near the rail—
And over in America there's Someone waits for me!