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
Ch: Then 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.