Last Of The Pirateers
There’s been many a wreck on a Widemouth breeze,
Plundered by her piratees,
The men set adrift on the blood red sea,
By smugglers from her shore,
As many a ghost as rooks in the trees,
Hail the Poundstock piratees,
Who drink to the death of a brigantine,
Upon the Celtic sea
Call the lads and fire the lights,
Pull up all the keggs and sweat all night,
We laughed as we set the dynamite,
We’re the last of the pirateers
From the Strangles to the Hartland piers,
Hunt the Poundstock pirateers,
Who ambush sailors in the night,
Who try to cross the bay,
A league offshore we’d commandeer,
By cutlass, fire, dread and fear,
Then watch her sink and disappear,
Below the briny seas
Chorus
We breached a sloop called Brigadoon,
Siezed her tea and gold dubloons,
Bound for Bristol from Rangoon,
Adrift she burned all day,
A slave ship bound for Cape Verde,
We sank her as she crossed the bay,
The quartermaster danced all day,
We’re the last of the pirateers
Chorus
The king sent men to scour the fields,
Tried to make us Cornish yield,
We sent them running like dogs on their heels,
We’re the last of the pirateers,
They say that the ghosts of us buccaneers,
Still roam the cliffs of the Dizzard,
Armed to the teeth like a winter squall,
You can hear us from The Lizard HEY!
Call the lads and fire the lights,
We laughed as we set the dynamite,
Call the lads and fire the lights,
We laughed as we set the dynamite,
Call the lads and fire the lights,
We laughed as we set the dynamite,
Chorus
We’re the last of the pirateers!