Grog

The timbers creak, the lanterns sway, We fade into the salt and spray. The Jolly Roger rides the breeze, Above the roiling, restless seas. But when the nightly shadows fall, And stars illuminate us all, We drop the sails and clear the log, To raise a heavy mug of grog!

Yo-ho, pour it high! A fiery cup to drown the sky! Mix the water, lime, and rum, Until the morning light has come. Let the stormy waters roll, There’s comfort in the wooden bowl!

The captain boasts of Spanish gold, Of buried chests and maps of old. The gunner sings a rowdy tune Beneath the pale and ghostly moon. Our boots are worn, our coats are frayed, By fierce Atlantic gales betrayed, But gold is fleeting, life is brief— This sweet elixir brings relief.

It burns the throat, it warms the bones, And mocks the ghost of Davy Jones. It keeps the dreaded scurvy down, And turns a sailor's heavy frown. So drink, you rogues, and toast the fleet, Until we're unsteady on our feet!

Yo-ho, pour it high! A fiery cup to drown the sky! Mix the water, lime, and rum, Until the morning light has come. Let the stormy waters roll, There’s comfort in the wooden bowl!

The barrel’s dry, the night is done, We face the rising, blinding sun. With heavy heads and cutlass bright, We'll chase another prize tonight. But as we brave the wind and fog, We'll dream of evening... and the grog.