Seventeen men on a dead squire’s locker

Have another drink it’s on me Jack

Let the rum pour from your throat to the floor

Tickling your ribs like a teabag

Twelve leagues down where the laughs never end

Everyone’s as rotten as a fleabag

In and out of eye sockets all the fish swim

He hi ho did ya see that?

Roger went first so you know how it goes

Jolly as a whore out on payday

Four on the floor and you know what’s more?

Barking at the moon like a maniac

Shells and kеlp matted into his hair

Eyes dark and empty as a ravеn

Split in his britches at the derriere

Face fallen in like a cave-in

Shouting like waves spraying off of the bough

Arms wildly waving like the wind blows

Don't try to limit him least not now

Let him keep crashing through the windows

Sixteen swabs on a dead squire’s deck

Have another drink it’s on me Jack

Let the rum pour from your mouth to your neck

And tickle your ribs like a teabag

Back on the shore where the maidens splay out

Half of them fish from the waist down

Dapper little gents watching how it plays out

But plenty of them hit the deck face down

Thomas tried his hand at a sonnet after supper

Horace bent his wrist like a crab claw

The conch shell blew and dessert was served

Melon flavored gel in the shape of a seesaw

We saw this from the deck and the rigging

Pillage won’t begin to describe it

Swabs swinging in like monkeys on the vine

And though most of you have never tried it

To run a man through to the base of a sword

And watch his eyes bulge is a pleasure

To do what you do to a fauntleroy lord

Then make off with his lass and his treasure

They scatter like mice at the sound of the cannon

The eyepatch can tend to alarm them

One wooden leg and a hook for a hand

Makes it clear that you intend to harm them

Wicked like a man going wolf for the moon

Night time black as a cauldron

With the way it’s going they’ll be finished pretty soon

And the lights in their eyes will be all dim

Fifteen lords yeah we only lost one

Have another drink it’s on me Jack

The rum on your hat through your boots to the floor

Tickling your ribs like a teabag