We called him Captain Morgan
for he sailed a sea of rum
We never saw him sober, but
we never saw him glum
His real name had been lost
to the high waves of history
The past he didn’t cotton to;
He was a mystery
His hair was all atangle,
had a hook for his left arm
His teeth were gone; his eyes were red
He had a certain charm
We saw him every day
and then we saw him every night
He wasn’t really rude, although
he wasn’t quite polite
The women were “fine wenches”
and the men were scallywags
He laughed and said he’d steal the gold
out of their hands and bags
He sang an old sea shanty
that was crude as it was loud
He never asked for money
for the man was far too proud
One day he said the time had come
His ship would soon set sail
We shook his hand and wished him well
through sun and rain and gale
Next morn we looked around
No Captain Morgan was in sight
And later on we learned
that he had died that very night
So let us lift our bottles
to the Captain’s final quest
He may have been a drunk old man
but, man, he was the best.
