There’s wind on the loch; she’s dippin’ in the water, uh-oh!
The storm is her bane, ’cause she ain’t no otter, uh-uh!
Goin’ down that fine boat. . .wavy,
goin’ down near Whitefish Bay,
goin’ down that fine boat; Navy
can’t find her that fateful day.

The wires are tight; the wind’s tattletaling, uh-oh!
They can’t spy yet the dock and can’t battle bailing!
Goin’ down that fine boat. . .wavy,
goin’ down that fateful day,
goin’ down that fine boat; Navy
ain’t heard a call of “Mayday!”

Fish at play in the bight;
Fitzgerald is listing far to the right.
Doomed are the crew’s and the old cook’s lives;
they got no hope, got no hope.
The Fitzgerald’s ill-fated, that once splendid boat.
How’d it happen to this upended boat?!

So, goin’ down that fine boat; Navy
ain’t heard a call of “Mayday!”
Goin’ down that fine boat; Davy
Jones had more clients that day.