Texty: Engorged. Skull And Crossbones.
[lyrics-Dave]
Shit turns to fire
in the hands of privateers
Abandon all fucking hope all ye
who enter here
Cannons set to fire
and the steely balls grow near
Thirst for virgun booty
fueled by rum and beer
Darkest tale ever told -
Sweet pussy, loving gold
We shall sail the ocean blue -
Blood thirsty cutthroat crew (x 2)
Don't haul on rope
don't climb up the mast
You see a sailin' ship.
it might be your last
Get your skivvies
ready for a run ashore
A sailor 'aint a sailor
'aint a sailor no more...
"You hear 'de riddim -
you a victim of voodoo
'De silvah bullet cannor
break you of juju
'De zombies do me bidding
soon be you do
Bury you still breathin'
than you're part of the crew"
...And those buccaneers
drowned their sins in rum
The devil himself would
have to call them scum
Every man aboard
would have killed his mate
For a bag of guineas
or a peice of eight!
Eight! Hate! Violate! You ingrate!
Abandon all hope all ye who enter here...
[MOSH PART]
"Hulla wacka hulla wacka
something not right
Many wicked
icky tings
gonna happen tonight
Hulla wacka ulla wacka
sailor men beware
When de money in the ground der's murder in
de air" [x3]
Fufteen men of em stiff and stark
Ten of the crew had the murder mark
'Twas a cutlass swipe or
an ounce of lead
Or a yawning hole in a battered head...
Shit turns to fire
in the hands of privateers
Abandon all fucking hope all ye
who enter here
Cannons set to fire
and the steely balls grow near
Thirst for virgun booty
fueled by rum and beer
Darkest tale ever told -
Sweet pussy, loving gold
We shall sail the ocean blue -
Blood thirsty cutthroat crew (x 2)
Don't haul on rope
don't climb up the mast
You see a sailin' ship.
it might be your last
Get your skivvies
ready for a run ashore
A sailor 'aint a sailor
'aint a sailor no more...
"You hear 'de riddim -
you a victim of voodoo
'De silvah bullet cannor
break you of juju
'De zombies do me bidding
soon be you do
Bury you still breathin'
than you're part of the crew"
...And those buccaneers
drowned their sins in rum
The devil himself would
have to call them scum
Every man aboard
would have killed his mate
For a bag of guineas
or a peice of eight!
Eight! Hate! Violate! You ingrate!
Abandon all hope all ye who enter here...
[MOSH PART]
"Hulla wacka hulla wacka
something not right
Many wicked
icky tings
gonna happen tonight
Hulla wacka ulla wacka
sailor men beware
When de money in the ground der's murder in
de air" [x3]
Fufteen men of em stiff and stark
Ten of the crew had the murder mark
'Twas a cutlass swipe or
an ounce of lead
Or a yawning hole in a battered head...
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