Who'll make his mark
The captain cried
To the devil drink a toast
We'll glut the hold
With cups of gold
And we'll feed the sea with ghosts
I see your hunger for a fortune
Could be better
Served beneath my flag
If you've the stomach
For a broadside
Come aboard my pretty boys
I will take you and make you
Everything you've ever dreamed.
Obscenely loud
music is
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