Give us a wrack or two, Good Lard,For winter in Tops'il Tickle bes hard,Wild grey frost creepin' like mortal sinAnd perishin' lack of bread in the bin.
A grand, rich wrack, us do humbly pray,Busted abroad at the break o' dayAn' hove clear in 'crost Tops'il Reef,Wid victuals an' gear to beguile our grief.
God of reefs an' tides an' sky,Heed Ye our need an' hark to our cry!Bread by the bag an' beef by the cask.Ease for sore bellies bes all we ask.
One grand wrack--or maybe two?--Wid gear an' victuals to see through'Til Spring starts up like the leap of dayAn' the fish strike back into Tops'il Bay.
One rich wrack--for Thy hand bes strong!A barque or a brig from up-alongBemused by Thy twisty tides, O Lard!For winter in Tops'il Tickle bes hard.
Loud an' long will us sing Yer praise,Marciful Fadder, O Ancient of Days,Master of fog an' tide an' reef!Heave us a wrack to beguile our grief. Amen.