Push away from the dock with a weathered old oar.
Row as hard as you can far away down the shore
It’s early in the morning with bacon on your breath.
Don’t think about troubles nor worry ‘bout death.

Tie on up to Camellia as she bobs in the lee
out of sight of the village and the people to see.
If the law comes a snooping just smile a How Do,
‘cause if they start lookin’ then your freedom is through.

The captain is a fair man who runs a hard boat
and the first mate, Roger is a clever old goat.
When the weather is fine and the sails are flappin’
you won’t find a single mate down below decks nappin’.

In the belly of the boat hides the rum filled hogs
and the crew work in fear of the revenue dogs.
Takin’ three fat kegs makes your skiff float low;
pray the sea stays calm or to the bottom you’ll go.

Hoist your sail to the sky.  Make a run for the shore
where the fog and the law are dueling to score.
Dig a hole in the sand in the back of that cave
get on out before the tide or remain in your grave.

When you need a little money and the rent is due
runnin’ rum for living will help you, ‘tis true ,
but the price to pay if you’re caught is high
while the hypocrite judges hold their cups to the sky.