Ahoy mates!
Now set me aloft—
That ole galleon's so close
Turnin' back t'would be soft:
We've ten guns to 'er un,
An' twice the men,
We're armed an' rearin' to take 'er—
Can the battle begin?

Ain't I cheery sight, though—
Red-an'-white on black,
Grinnin' at ye jus' bones,
Frightinin' an t'other Jack?

Cuz Lord knows ye t'wouldn't
Fly me 't'all
If ye ain't already damned
An' far below
Ain't temptin' death
An' threatnin' to go.

We been becalmed,
We been bored,
Bu' thar's Spain's ship
Stop fightin' yeselves lads—
Thar's glory aheads.

Set me up on ye mast
Shakin' in the wind—
Ole Roger tuned Jolly,
An' lookin' fer the win.

The cannon blast
An' me pictures shine out—
Bone an' sword—
Frightnin' ain't I—
Ah, let 'em cry out!

Fer it's the sea we're takin' on
Aye, fer riches, too, an' gold,
An' mebbe if we're lucky
Tales to be told—

Hey, it ain't like we got
Nothin' to loose—
Hell, we know we'll get caught.

Ahoy mates!

Set me up on ye mast
Shakin' in the wind—
Ole Roger turned Jolly,
An lookin' fer some wins—
We're armed an' rearin' to take 'er
An' now the battle begins. . . .