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Ship 'ho on the horizon, men.
We must beat to quarters!
Stow your mops and prime the guns,
Hear, these are your orders.

Strike the mainsails, fill the nettings,
Get before the merchants!
Turn to port, my valiant men,
Let her have our broadside!

Chorus
See, their ships approaching our coast and,
See, their want for our goods and our lives.
Let them not breach our oaken shield!

Hoist the ensign, my good man
Let her see our colours!
Point towards the malicious fiends,
Damn their eyes and give 'm hell!

Come the strife with spirits high,
And where we sail, is where we die.
True Lowlanders will never yield,
On this aquatic battlefield.

Chorus
See, their ships approaching our coast and,
See, their want for our goods and our lives.
Let them not breach our oaken shield!

Solo

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