We upped anchor year of our Lord, 1786 ta’ the beat of ship’s drummer and fife
farin’ forth from Liverpool in a pea-soup fog,
we all downed our day’s ration of grog,
drawin’ bit o’ blood with a dirk, and many a smirk,
swore oath o’er again to commit still more sin,
cleavin’ once’t more ta’ the pirate’s wild life.

Our swift sloop, Corsair, she were fitted out real fair,
like she were a merchant, yet with ten four-pounders per side.
And o’er our steel rammin’ bow, I can tell ‘ya boyos now,
a massive six-pounder we did gleefully hide.
For Spanish frigates carryin’ treasure so fine
sailed with feared escort ships, man-o-wars o’ the line
And God’s blood, t’wouldn’t do to have one or two
put us down deep with ol’ Davy in the brine.

So we chose them smelly Frogs and oftimes the Wogs,
mostly them mustached, snotty rich Spanish louts
who sailed like landlubbers wearin’ winter foot rubbers
and ne’er much won any bouts.
Twenty days o’ fair weather out ‘a the Indies we spotted a single sail,
t’was an old Dutch Flute, loaded wi' loot, it’s water line ridin’ low,
her sheets all unfurled, the bow waves curled, but it still were goin’ slow,
thus we raised our horn with jolly mean scorn
and gave her innocent, friendly, merchant-like hail.

Heavin’ to close like, aye, set for the first strike,
merchant colors run down the mast,
Jolly Roger banner pulled out in quick manner,
grinnin’ deck hands hauled it up fast.
“Fooled the fuggers again!”Captain One-eye exclaimed
as our boardin’ crew raised muskets and fired.
We passed to their lee side, cannon primed and aimed,
seein' their mustached faces, so scared, so tired.

But then they broadsided first, and fearin’ the worst,
as the mainmast snapped, the sails unwrapped
and several fires broke out,
our Captain chided, “Damn, Mister Trask, I really must ask,
would you for God’s sake come about?”
First Mate, he was red-faced, his effort was fast-paced
but finally our grapplin' hooks were all set.
Our boyos in the riggin’ were frantically diggin’
for musket powder that hadn’t got wet.

We pulled her close to, and all our fierce crew
swung through their cutlasses and shot, givin' a mighty yell,
but it weren’t so much fun, the sods had a movin’ deck gun,
and their grapeshot tore us to hell.
Yet we still holed ‘em real smart, nearly tore ‘em apart
but our own ship was in sad repair.
Before ya’ could think, we started to sink,
Avast! Alas! Farewell, fast Corvair.

Life boats splashin’ down, all feared they’d be drownt
and, aye, so too, we lost our hard-won prize.
Sodden bunch’a bedraggled men,
the fight seemed for nought then
And I swear nary man there felt it was fair
ta’ look t’other in the eyes.
Becalmed ten days now, me four mates in the bow
ha’ died from scurvy, their wounds and such.
We just drew for their flesh, while it still be fresh
I now be thinkin’ won’t like it raw much

So there be me story in all it’s sad glory,
God’s jokes give a man pause don’t ya’ know.
At this stage of the game, me back comin’ on lame,
got aught stren’th left now to row.
Aye, twenty day gone now afloat in our crowded life boat
no food left, sun beating hard down.
Nor fresh water for drink, and this old pirate does think
if I be livin’ this through and there’s aught piratin’ left ta’ do,
damn me eyes, haft’a find me some shit work in some shitty town.