A Fore-Castle Song

DO you see, as a Sailor, I'll heave off
A bit of a song in my way,
But, if you don't like it I'll leave off,
I soon can my bawling belay.
Odd Lingos Musicianers write in,
Concerning Flats, Sharps, and all that;
We Seamen are sharp in our fighting,
And as to the Frenchmen they're flat.

Outlandish folks tickle your ears
With Solos, and such sort of stuff,
We Tars have no more than Three Cheers,
Which French folks think music enough.
Through Canada loudly 'twas rung,
Then echoed on Senegal's shore,
At Gaudaloupe merrily sung,
And Martinique chorus'd Encore.

At Havre we play'd well our parts,
Tho' our Game they pretended to scoff,
For Trumps we turn'd up English Hearts,
They threw down their Cards and sheer'd off.
They have met with their match now they feel,
Their Shuffling and Cutting we check;
They were lurch'â at Crown Point, and lost Deal,
And faith they got slamm'd at Quebec.

Our Music gave French folks the vapours,
It took an odd turn on Conflans;
We knew they were all fond of Capers,
So set up an old English Dance.
'Twas Britons strike home that we sounded,
By the strength of that tune they were trounc'd,
The Tididols looking confounded,
While Hawke faith their feather-heads pounc'd.

Our instruments always do wonders,
From Round-tops we give serenades;
Our Organs are twenty-four pounders,
Our Concerts are brisk Cannonades.
For Cooks, thof the French folks are neater,
Our messes they never can beat,
Our Dishes have so much Salt-petre,
And as to our Balls they're forc'd-meat.

God bless our King George, with Three Cheers, Sirs,
And God bless his Consort, Amen.
In past times we've drubb'd the Mounseers Sirs,
For pastime we'll drub them again.
There's one thing I have more to say,—Tho'
Beyond seas, my boys, we'll o'ercome,
If you'll give Old England fair play tho',
And keep yourselves quiet at home.