Ah, no. But I did sing this one the other night, in a proper cockney drawl, while sipping black rum:
Come gather round and listen lads, and hear me tell m’ tale,
How across the sea from England I was condemned to sail.
The jury found me guilty, and then says the judge, says he,
Oh for life, Jim Jones, I’m sending you across the stormy sea.
But take a tip before you ship to join the iron gang,
Don’t get too gay in Botany Bay, or else you’ll surely hang.
Or else you’ll surely hang, he says, and after that, Jim Jones,
Way up high upon yon gallows tree, the crows will pick your bones.
Our ship was high upon the seas when pirates came along,
But the soldiers on our convict ship were full five hundred strong;
They opened fire and so they drove that pirate ship away
But I’d rather joined that pirate ship than gone to Botany Bay.
With the storms a-raging round us, and the winds a-blowing gales
I’d rather drowned in misery than gone to New South Wales.
There’s no time for mischief there, remember that, they say
Oh they’ll flog the poaching out of you down there in Botany Bay.
Day and night in irons clad we like poor galley slaves
Will toil and toil our lives away to fill dishonored graves;
But by and by I’ll slip m’ chains and to the bush I’ll go
And I’ll join the brave bushrangers there, Jack Donahue and Co.
And some dark night all is right and quiet in the town,
I’ll get the bastards one and all, I’ll gun the floggers down.
I’ll give them all a little treat, remember what I say
And they’ll yet regret they sent Jim Jones in chains to Botany Bay.
Aye, the crows will pick yer bones. This fine drinking shanty was recently disinterred by Quentin Tarantino when he inserted it into The Hateful Eight at about 1:20.
TJBM knows another good one.