Smith Of Bristol

Smith was a Bristol man and a rare old sort was he

With his cutlass and his pistols, heave-ya ho

He'd a noble crew of cut-throats who used to scour the

sea

A plunderin' and a robbin', high and low

He swore 'twas no concern', he didn't give a herrin'

Bout right or wrong or any holy show

He swore that grabbin' booty was Britain's foremost

duty

Wherever she could get it, heave-ya ho

Heave-ya ho, Heave-ya ho,

He swore that grabbin' booty was Britain's foremost

duty

Wherever she could get it, heave-ya ho

Smith had a noble soul and lofty was his pride

With his cutlass and his pistols, heave-ya ho

He'd watch his beaten foe-men jump out into the tide

Call ye beggars who had no where else to go

And hanging from his lanyards swung Portuguese and

Spaniards

And beaten Frenchmen jumping to and fro

Right along the blazin' glory, shall illumine in

England's glory

Pirate Smith of Bristol, heave-ya ho

Heave-ya ho, Heave-ya ho,

He swore that grabbin' booty was Britain's foremost

duty

Wherever she could get it, heave-ya ho

But accidents they happen even to heroes such as he

With his cutlass and his pistols, heave-ya ho

He was standing on his capstan as happy as could be

Hoping soon to have another prize in tow

When a whistling Spanish bullet came and caught him in

his gullet

And very sad to say it laid him low

He was only ninety-seven, but his soul has gone to

heaven

To rest on Nelson's bosom, heave-ya ho

Heave-ya ho, Heave-ya ho,

He swore that grabbin' booty was Britain's foremost

duty

Wherever she could get it, heave-ya ho

Heave-ya ho, Heave-ya ho,

He swore that grabbin' booty was Britain's foremost

duty

Wherever she could get it, heave-ya ho