Sling the Flowing Bowl

Come, come, my jolly lads, the wind's abaft, Brisk gales our sails shall crowd; Then bustle, bustle, bustle, boys, Haul the boat, The boatswain pipes aloud. All hands on board, Our ship's unmoored, The rising gale fills ev'ry sail, Our ship's well manned and stored.

ChorusThen sling the flowing bowl, then sling the flowing bowl, Fond hope arise, The girls we prize, Shall bless each jovial soul. Then the can, boys, bring, We'll drink and sing, While the foaming billows roll.

Now, to the Spanish coast we're bound to steer, To see our rights maintained; Then bear a hand, be steady, boys, Soon we shall see Old England once again. From shore to shore Loud cannons roar, Our tars shall show the haughty foe Britannia rules the main.