Band on the Rum Lyrics


“The Derelict”
“Whiskey in the Jar”
“Old Maui”
“Bell-Bottom Trousers”
“Strike the Bell”
“Seven Summers”
“Cover of the Pyrates Way”

The Derelict
(“15 Men on the Dead Man’s Chest”, or “Yo Ho Ho and a Bottle of Rum”)

Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest
Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum
Drink and the devil had done for the rest
Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum
The mate was fixed by the bosun’s pike
The bosun brained with a marlin spike
And cookey’s throat was marked belike
It had been gripped by fingers ten
And there they lay, all good dead men
Like break o’day in a boozin’ ken
Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum

Fifteen men of the whole ship’s list
Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum
Dead ’n’ be damned and the rest gone whist
Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum
The skipper lay with his nob in gore
Where the scullion’s axe his cheek had shore
And the scullion, he was stabbed times four
And there they lay, while soggy skies
Dripped all day long in up-staring eyes
At murk sunset and that foul sunrise
Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum

Fifteen men of ’em stiff and stark
Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum
Ten of the crew had the murder mark!
Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum
Twas a cutlass swipe, or an ounce of lead
Or a yawing hole in a battered head
And the scuppers’ glut with a rotting red
And there they lay, aye, damn me eyes
All lookouts clapped on paradise
All souls bound just contrary-wise
Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum

Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest
Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum
Drink and the devil had done for the rest
Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum
We wrapped ’em all in a mains’l tight
With twice ten turns of a hawser’s bight
Then we heaved ’em o’er and out of sight
With a Yo-Heave-Ho! and a fare-the-well
And a sudden plunge in a sullen swell
Ten fathoms deep on the road to hell…

Yo ho ho, and a bottle of rum!

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Whiskey in the Jar

As I was going over the far Kilgary Mountain
I met with Captain Farrell, and his money he was countin’
I first produced my pistol, then I drew my rapier
I said, “Stand and deliver, for I am a bold deceiver”

Chorus:
Musha re um durham da
Whack for the daddy oh
Whack for the daddy oh
There’s whiskey in the jar

I counted out his money, t’would make a pretty penny
I put it in me pocket, and I took it home to Jenny
She sighed and swore she never would deceive me
But the devil take that woman, for she never could be easy

I went up to me chambers, for to take my slumber
I dreamt of gold and jewels, and for sure it was no wonder
But Jenny took me charges, filled them up with water
Then sent for Captain Farrell to get ready for a slaughter

Chorus

T’was early in the mornin’, before I rose to travel
There came a band of footmen and likewise Captain Farrell
I first produced my pistol, for she had stole my rapier
But I could not shoot that water, so a prisoner I was taken

Well the only one can save me is me brother in the army
I don’t know if he’s stationed in Cork or in Killarney
Together we’ll go roamin’ through the hills of Kilkenny
I bet he’ll treat me better than me darlin’ sportin’ Jenny

T’was early in the mornin’ in the barracks of Killarney
My brother took his leave, he did not tell the army
Two horses they went missin’, twas all over but the shoutin’
Now we wait for Ferrell up on Kilgary Mountain

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Old Maui
Traditional. Altered lyrics © 2008 Nathan Rosen.

’Tis a damn tough life, full of toil and strife
We buccaneers undergo
And we don’t give a damn when the plunderin’s done
How the bitter winds did blow
We’re bound for home, we’ll no more roam
On that cold and heartless sea
For now we’re bound from the plundering ground
Rolling down to old Maui

Chorus

Rolling down to old Maui, me boys
Rolling down to old Maui
We’re homeward bound from the plundering ground
Rolling down to old Maui

Through many a blow of frost and snow
And bitter squalls of hail
Our mast and yards were sheathed with ice
As we braved the Northern gale
Our spars are bent and our canvas rent
But to hell with that, say we
For we don’t give a damn when we drink our rum
With the girls of old Maui

How soft the breeze of the tropic seas
All the ice is far astern
And them pretty maids in them island glades
Are awaiting our return
Even now their big black eyes look out
Hoping some fine day to see
Our pirate sails running ‘fore the gales
Rolling down to old Maui

So now we sail with a favoring gale
Towards that tropic shore
We’ll empty our hold and spend all our gold
’Til we’re drunk and broke once more
’Twas a fine reprieve, but we’ll take our leave
And return again to sea
But to the girls we say, we’ll be back someday
Wait for us on old Maui

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Bell-Bottomed Trousers

Well harken all ye lasses in all your girlish glee,
Never let a pirate’s hand an inch above your knee
I trusted one once then he went back to sea
And left me with a burden to bounce upon my knee

Chorus:
Singin’ the bell-bottomed trousers, coats of navy blue
Let him climb the riggin’ like his Daddy used to do

I was a serving maid down on Drury Lane
Me master he was kind to me, me mistress was the same
When along came a sailor on shore at Liberty
And oh to me woe, he took liberties with me

T’was at the ball I met him, he asked me for a dance
I knew he was a sailor by the way he wore his pants
His shoes were brightly polished, and his hair was neatly combed
And when the ball was over he asked to see me home

He asked me for a handkerchief to tie around his head
He asked me for a candlestick to light his way to bed
And I a foolish maiden a-thinkin’ it no harm
I jumped right in that sailor’s bed to keep that sailor warm

Well I knew he was no Samson, for that night he went to town
He laid me on my back until my blue eyes turned to brown
And earl-eye the next mornin’, a-fore the break of day
A five-pound note he gave to me with these warning words to say

And he said “Take this my darlin’ for the damage I have done
For you may have a daughter, or you may have a son
And if you have a daughter, bounce her on your knee
But if you have a son, just send the bastard out to sea!”

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Strike the Bell

Up on the poop deck and walkin’ all about
There’s the second mate so steady and so stout
What he is a-thinkin’ of, he doesn’t know himself
We wish that he would hurry up and strike, strike the bell.

Chorus:
Strike the bell second mate, let us go below
Look ye well to windward, you can see it’s going to blow
Look at the glass, you can see that it has fell
We wish that you would hurry up and strike, strike the bell!

Down on the main deck and workin’ at the pumps,
There’s the bloody crew, just longin’ for their bunks
They look out to windward and they see a great big swell
They’re wishin’ that the second mate would strike, strike the bell

Up on the fo’c’sle head and keepin’ sharp lookout
Black Dog Nate stands, a-longin’ for to shout
The lights are burnin’ brightly, sir, and everything is swell
We wish that you would hurry up and strike, strike the bell.

Aft at the wheelhouse, The Last Mate stands
Clutchin’ at the wheel with his frostbitten hands
He’s lookin’ at the compass, and his course is clear as hell
He’s wishin’ that the second mate would strike, strike the bell.

Up on the quarter deck, our gallant captain stands
Lookin’ out to seaward with a spyglass in her hands
What she is a-thinkin’ of, we know very well,
She’s thinkin’ more of shortenin’ sail than strikin’ the bell!

Seven Summers
Lyrics and tune © April Fuhrer

Seven summers it has been since you left me with the snow
Seven seasons come and gone while your grandson has grown
And he asks me “Ma, when will I be the sailing man I feel in me?
When will the ocean be my home?”

What can I say to a tiny sailor bouncing on my knee?
How can I tell him the ocean’s taken everything from me?
And I reply “Son, when I die, I’ll be the waves crashing by your side,
‘Til that day you must remain at home.”

There’s no doubt that my boy will grow to live at sea
The shore holds no love for him, save, of course, for me
And though I try to keep him here, I know it’s just a few more years
‘Til the ocean calls my sailor home

And though I try to sway his mind, I know the land will be left behind
As soon as your grandson is grown
As soon as your grandson is grown…

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Cover of the Pyrates Way
Lyrics: Tim Michau, Jim Everett, Steve Boehm
Music: Shel Silverstein

Well we’re pyrate singers, we’ve got most of our fingers
And we pillage everywhere we go
We sing about booty and we sing about blood
But we can’t get paid for a show

We’ve got the finest crew that rum can buy
And we always carry the day
We can take any fortress but we can’t get our portraits
On the cover of the Pyrates Way

Chorus
Pyrates Way
Wanna see our likeness on the cover
Pyrates Way
Gonna steal a copy from your mother
Pyrates Way
Wanna see our scowlin’ faces
On the cover of the Pyrates Way

We’ve got sails ‘n’ yards, we’ve got period garb
And our own Jolly Roger flag
We’ve got feathers in our hats ‘n’ ruffled shirts
Dressed like men in drag

We’ve got knives in our teeth and swords at our belts
And we walk with a drunken sway
And we keep getting better, but we can’t get our letters
On the cover of the Pyrates Way

Chorus

Well we sing our songs as we sails along
Up and down the coast
We invade Faires and Festivals
Givin’ our mates a toast

We’ve taken Clipper ships and stadiums
But the prize that’ll get us paid
Is to get what we’re cravin’ and to see our engravin’
On the cover of the Pyrates Way

Chorus x2

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