For seven years we scoured the seven seas And at our mast we flew the Jolly Roger We learned to mend our ship in storm or breeze And if a plank were sprung, by Christ we’d bodge her! Now the navy’s firing shots across our bows The sea’s dead calm; the crew is all hung-over But the captain merely smiles at us and vows: It isn’t over until it’s over! The flagship frigate turns herself broadside And clouds of smoke start pouring from her scuppers Audaciously our cannons then reply Destruction! Death! They’re singing for their suppers! We’ve been through worse; it looks like our luck’s in But storms are brewing; and we’re holed, moreover. The captain shouts above the hellish din: - It isn’t over until it’s over!
Through telescopes a hundred glaring eyes Spy us grey and smoky from our sallies But they will never view us in the guise Of slaves chained up to oars in navy galleys!
We’ve been outgunned! Our ship is going to sink! We’ll never get to see the cliffs of Dover! But our captain doesn’t ever even blink! - It isn’t over until it’s over! Who wants to live, who’s merry, keep your grip - And prepare yourself for vicious cutthroat fighting! We’ll let the rats get off the sinking ship - We can do without them at our ankles biting! The rats were thinking that the captain lied Abandon ship! They all died sober! But we heave to along the frigate’s side. - It isn’t over until it’s over! Knife to cutlass, fist to gullet, eye to eye! Lest we be food for octopus or conger, Our pistols and our sabers make them cry, - Their vessel won’t be floating for much longer! But it’s not meant to be, she won’t go down She’ll carry us to port - we’ll be in clover For the ocean never lets the sailor drown Who doesn’t say it’s over... until it’s over.
© Tommy Beavitt. Translation, ?
© Tommy Beavitt. Performance, ?