Loss of the Ocean Ranger, The



Mobil Ocean Ranger, ice in all the rigging
Breaking up, we know she’s going down
Should have stayed at home, we’d all be safe in town
But then, a storm’s a storm, we’ve seen them all blow down.

A brand new kind of sailor, the off shore drillingman
Eighty four will die off Newfoundland
I came to try the working, it’s not what I’ve done before
I’ve always felt at home away from shore

They say she’ll roll right over, at the time she’s going to go
The choppers can’t get near, the clouds are low
If they can’t find the reason, there’s no way we can wait
For those that drown, it’s second time too late

The swells start getting higher, I can feel her swinging ‘round
Some are yelling: “My God, she’s going down!”
The night can’t get no blacker, down below the bitter sea
No time lift, the port side’s breaking free.

I can hear the creak and groaning, like she’s never done before
She’s shifting bad and she can’t take much more
I’m working on a pay cheque that I know I’ll never spend
I can’t believe how fast a good think ends

I’m looking at the chances, sure as Hell I don’t see many
The life boat broke away, I don’t see any
Don’t feel much like crying, sure as Hell I don’t feel like dying
The hungry sea will put us down, still trying

Mobil Ocean Ranger, ice all in the rigging
Breaking up, we know she’s going down
I’se the b’y that builds the boast, and I’se the b’y that ails her
I’s the b’y who won’t go home to Lizer.

Citation: Rogers, T.B. “The New Balladeers”, Canadian Folk Music Bulletin, p. 11

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