Synthetic Medic · Song lyrics

The Worst Shift Ever

Genre: Sea Shanty
Released: July 31, 2026
Length: 4:04

The words

Lyrics

Verse 1

The tones rang out at half past two Dispatch cried, Got work for you We grabbed our bags, climbed inside And kissed our peaceful night goodbye

Chorus

Heave away, boys, heave away Dispatch owns our lives today Lift with your legs and brace your soul Another call takes one more toll Heave away, boys, don't fall back I know y'er tired, morale's cracked Harbor's near... or so they say One more call and heave away

Verse 2

The first stop was a lift assist The kind you wish you would've missed Fire arrived with half the town Still that stretcher sagged right down Every inch was hard-earned ground The stretcher made a groaning sound "One... two... three!" we gave our best My spine erupted in protest

Tag

Heave! Ho! Heave Again Please just make this nonsense end

Verse 3

The next call came without delay A naked fellow ran our way Covered head to toe in shame Though judging him was not our game He slipped beneath the kitchen light Then hugged my partner out of spite I swear that smell still haunts my gear And probably will next fiscal year

Tag

Heave again! Row Boys Row When we stop, we'll never know

Verse 4

We sailed into a weathered shack Where bed bugs staged a full attack One on my glove, two on my boot Three declared my shirt looked cute Tiny sailors climbed aboard Marching like they'd won a war We shook our boots and checked our hair Still found three on the captain's chair

Tag

Heave away! Don't breathe deep We'll feel them crawling in our sleep

Verse 5

A nurse cried out with great concern "He's altered!" came the urgent word "Since when?" we asked. I'm not quite sure The chart was dated '94 No med list found, no family near No paperwork had made it here "Now leave you must," the nurse then said I have a new patient for this bed

Tag

All hands! Heave away We'll never get to rest today

Verse 6

"Chest pain, ten!" the caller cried While scrolling reels on their bedside They paused to ask, with not a care Will they have a charger there We reached the ER safe and sound Their pain became a two somehow Then just before we cleared the floor Dispatch chimed with one call more

Bridge

Who's got the stair chair HEAVE-HO Who's got the backboard HEAVE-HO Who's buying breakfast HEAVE-HO Who's charting this one Don't look at me. Heck no

Chorus 2

Heave away, boys, heave away We'll answer till our hair turns gray Blood and sweat and paperwork Still no sign of solid shore Heave away, boys, one last ride Laughing just to stay alive The dock's in sight... the shift is done ..Medic Four... just one more run

Outro

Heave Away Boys! Heave Away I hope we'll get back home someday

About this song

If you're going to document the worst EMS shift imaginable, there is really only one responsible musical choice.

Sea shanty.

“The Worst Shift Ever” isn't based on one specific shift. It's a collection of the kinds of calls, frustrations and tiny disasters that could combine to make even the most committed EMS provider briefly reconsider every career decision they've ever made.

It starts innocently enough.

The tones drop.

Then comes the lift assist that introduces your lumbar spine directly to its creator.

Then the naked patient.

Then the bed bugs.

Then the nursing-home mystery patient with essentially no usable history or paperwork.

Then the ten-out-of-ten chest pain that somehow becomes a two by arrival.

None of these things alone necessarily makes the worst shift ever.

The magic is in the accumulation.

EMS has a particular kind of exhaustion that happens when every time you think you've reached calm water, another set of tones drops.

So the ambulance becomes a ship.

The crew becomes a collection of exhausted sailors.

The station becomes a distant harbor.

And dispatch becomes the merciless voice somewhere beyond the horizon informing you that you are absolutely not going home yet.

You keep lifting.

You keep charting.

You keep answering.

And eventually the end of shift finally appears.

The dock is in sight.

Salvation.

Freedom.

You can practically hear your bed calling your name.

Then the radio cracks.

“...Medic Four...”

And somewhere in the distance, an exhausted crew begins rowing again.

Heave away, boys. Heave away.

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