We came on the sloop John B., my grandfather and me,
Round Nassau town we did roam,
Drinking all night, got into a fight,
Well, I feel so break-up, I want to go home.

Chorus

So, hoist up the John B.'s sails, see how the main sails set,
Send for the Captain ashore, let me go home;
Let me go home, I want to go home,
I feel so break-up, I want to go home.

Well, the first mate, he got drunk,
Broke up the people's trunk,
Constable has to come and take him away,
Sheriff John Stone, please leave me alone.
I feel so break-up, I want to go home.

The poor cook he got fits, throw'd away all my grits,
Then he went and ate up all of my corn,
Oh, let me go home, I want to go home,
This is the worst trip I've ever been on.