| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
The Song Book
Now mounted on the top-mast,
How dreadful 'tis below ! Then we ride, as the tide,
When the stormy winds do blow.
If enemies oppose us,
And England is at war Writh any foreign nation,
We fear not wound nor scar. To humble them, come on, lads,
Their flags we'll soon lay low ; Clear the way for the fray,
Tho' the stormy winds do blow.
Sometimes in Neptune's bosom
Our ship is toss'd by waves, And every man expecting
The sea to be our graves ; Then up aloft she's mounted,
And down again so low, In the waves, on the seas,
When the stormy winds do blow.
But when the danger's over,
And safe we come on shore, The horrors of the tempest
We think about no more; The flowing bowl invites us,
And joyfully we go, All the day drink away,
Tho' the stormy winds do blow.
The Words altered from Martin |
||
|
D |
||