Cut, cut away. Let the axes fly
Let a loose them ropes and everything dry
Leave the scars of the land far away ashore
Let the strumpets cry like the waves will roar
Let the pall dispurse. Let them see our stern
Pray we nay be moored, pray our names be earned
Let our bildge grow damp, let our futtocks crack
May our bows be strong, and the wind at our back
Lucky fools! Hoist up them colors!
Lucky fools! Hoist up them colors!
Bring the anchor up, up, let the sails roll down
Let them rats grow old, may we hang on drown
Let the swell grow high. Nay we stillness feel
Let the fathoms wail down below our keel
Set! set a sail. Let the land landlubbers stay
Leave this cradle of dirt to the ocean’s spray
Let the skies and seas be our only friends
Let our journey start, long before it ends!
Lucky fools! Hoist up them colors!
Lucky fools! Hoist up them colors!
Take the fates… back to our hands! back to our hands!
Take the fates… back to our hands! back to our hands!