
The colors of our homeland fly atop the mainmast.
The black pennant, beneath
signaling no quarter given.
We’ve taken in fresh water,
a crop of limes,
we’re flush with powder and 24 pound shot.
A sail’s spotted on the horizon
the order’s been given to chase and beat to quarters.
We’re to our stations
to run out the guns
and watch
the distance to our prize
close rapidly
as the boatswain begins a tune
and we all join in.