Farewell and adieu unto you Spanish ladies
Farewell and adieu to you ladies of Spain
For we have received orders to sail to old England
We hope in a short time to see you again
We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors
We'll rant and we'll roar along the salt seas
Until we strike soundings in the Channel of Old England
From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues
We hove our ship to with the wind on sou'west, boys
We hove our ship to, deep soundings to take
Twas forty-five fathoms, with a white sandy bottom
So we squared our main yard and up channel did make
We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors
We'll rant and we'll roar along the salt seas
Until we strike soundings in the Channel of Old England
From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues
Now let every man drink off his full bumper
And let every man drink off his full glass
We'll drink and be jolly and drown melancholy
Here's to the health of each true-hearted lass
We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors
We'll rant and we'll roar along the salt seas
Until we strike soundings in the Channel of Old England
From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues
The first land we made was called the Dodman
Next Ram Head off Plymouth, off Portland the Wight
We sailed by Beachy, by Fairlee and Dover
Then abreast away for South Foreland Light
We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors
We'll rant and we'll roar along the salt seas
Until we strike soundings in the Channel of Old England
From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues
The signal is made for the grand fleet to anchor
And all in the Downs that night for to lie;
Let go your shank painter, let go your cat
Haul up your clewgarnets
Let tacks and shAnnotateeets fly!
We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors
We'll rant and we'll roar along the salt seas
Until we strike soundings in the Channel of Old England
From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues
Now let every man drink off his full bumper
And let every man drink off his full glass
We'll drink and be jolly and drown melancholy
Here's to the health of each true-hearted lass
We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors
We'll rant and we'll roar along the salt seas
Until we strike soundings in the Channel of Old England
From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues