The Carney One is plainly free, the game well played out on the sea. The Planless quickly roll the dice, without much thought about the price.
For absentees the numbers grow, the truth of it a few will know. The Eagle thinks he has them all, for the moment walking tall.
Captain of Top staying fit, knows this mortgage will be it. It doesn't seem fair to the nation, it was only procuration.
Some eyes turn to marketeers, or was there really mutineers ? Mostly liked an able sort, he will never sail from port.
The Queen's Hard Bargain is all that's left, the prize is high he takes the heft. Not well liked and bad with treasure, the Privateer now has his measure.
The Privateer sailed here before, the ship is new but not the shore. No true Pirate and ship not prime, the job is done in half the time.
The ship piles up for all to see, already there's a number three. With great promise and small ration, no souls will trade in this fashion.
Taken away but here's the thing, this Captain can really sing. Sing indeed and not just song, no one knows where he belongs.
Letter of Marque or Captain's Daughter, the parley done in Pilot's Water. Ghosting slow and with his Idler, to get away he'll luff and touch her.
Many ships will come and go, some sail quick and some are slow. Some will burn upon the sea, most disappear while others flee.
The Keen Profit has now spoken, of first-rate ships so rare a token. From afar they seem the same, all Old Salt's they've played the game.
Watch 'n Watch and Trick 'n Trick, the Privateers are growing thick. They take a prize but it's the last, their ways are old the other's fast.
At this end just one remains, play with cards they shall refrain. The Keen Profit said it so, the time is ripe for him to go.
Ship of The Line nay new or old, there's no reason to be bold. Eight hundred crew and a hundred guns, still The Eagle will be shunned.
Seams so tight and crew so fair, no Privateers for none will dare. Full and by no Garbling there, flush with gold without a wear.
Man the rails behold this ship, her time is done she sails to slip. Crew and Merchants all well paid, tomorrow brings another way.
To maidens song the sea has changed, Tramp Trade rules there will be flames. The Eagle fights but in despair, Bumboats a many there's no repair.
They number more than grains of sand, all kinds sail even lubbers of land. The very oceans must be drained, all for nought and none detained.
nigga wat?