| Song | My Donald |
| Artist | Bert Jansch |
| Album | Crimson Moon |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| My Donald he works on the sea | |
| Where the waves they blow wild and free | |
| He splices the ropes, he sets the sail. | |
| Southward he goes, in search of the whale | |
| He never thinks of me left behind | |
| Nor the torments that rage in my mind | |
| He's mine for only half part of the year | |
| Then leaves me behiínd, with nothing but a tear | |
| Oh you ladies who smell the wild rose | |
| Think for the perfume to where a man goes | |
| Think of the women, the children that yearn | |
| For men never return from hunting the sperm | |
| Oh my Donald he works on the sea | |
| Where the waves they blow wild and free | |
| He splices the ropes, he sets the sail. | |
| Southward he goes, in search of the whale |
| My Donald he works on the sea | |
| Where the waves they blow wild and free | |
| He splices the ropes, he sets the sail. | |
| Southward he goes, in search of the whale | |
| He never thinks of me left behind | |
| Nor the torments that rage in my mind | |
| He' s mine for only half part of the year | |
| Then leaves me behii nd, with nothing but a tear | |
| Oh you ladies who smell the wild rose | |
| Think for the perfume to where a man goes | |
| Think of the women, the children that yearn | |
| For men never return from hunting the sperm | |
| Oh my Donald he works on the sea | |
| Where the waves they blow wild and free | |
| He splices the ropes, he sets the sail. | |
| Southward he goes, in search of the whale |
| My Donald he works on the sea | |
| Where the waves they blow wild and free | |
| He splices the ropes, he sets the sail. | |
| Southward he goes, in search of the whale | |
| He never thinks of me left behind | |
| Nor the torments that rage in my mind | |
| He' s mine for only half part of the year | |
| Then leaves me behií nd, with nothing but a tear | |
| Oh you ladies who smell the wild rose | |
| Think for the perfume to where a man goes | |
| Think of the women, the children that yearn | |
| For men never return from hunting the sperm | |
| Oh my Donald he works on the sea | |
| Where the waves they blow wild and free | |
| He splices the ropes, he sets the sail. | |
| Southward he goes, in search of the whale |