Hoist t'colors!!!!!

Many a moon hath passed tis way, nine battles down be no time to sway. T' Norsemen of Dakota, tho a fiery foe indeed, be no match for arr Captain and t' crew he leads.

In t' battle of Rice seven broadsides he landed, an easy victory arr Pottsbeard commanded.

On to t' Austin Shoals we sailed, but t' battle was lost, and Pottsbeard be whaled.

Down to be sure, we limped to Galveston Bay, only to run a ground off Keenum Cay. 

All seemed lost? T' end was nye. But arr Captain T'Leach, were in no mood to die! 

To t' waters of New Mexico we cruised, full wind in t' mains. Under arr new Commander, many a enemy was slain. Sheffield tey called him, light in meat he be. But courageous he was, an eager to follow were we.

In our own port, we sat in wait. Our untested commander we used as bait. T' Wildcat of Kansas was first to bite. On t' bottom of Jones Harbor she now rests, never again to fight.

Next port Nebraska, t' swift Lincoln in our sights. On her we were gainin, she could now see our lights.  40 guns in her belly, and a motley crew. A vicious and terrible sort of men, known as t' Suh. Arr Captain outflanked her, and Sheffield set arr guns ablaze. When t' last cannon sounded, t' Lincoln sank in a haze. Victorious again, praise to Callipso we were a callin. But when t' smoke faded, we learned our Sheffield had fallen.

Smartly now, back to Jones Harbor in haste. Word was passed down, t' Aggie had given chase. But in arr own  waters, why be afraid? We had bested all manowar, wit arr violent air raid. T' grog and ale be flowin, plump wenches in our ear. Praising our courage promising nothing to fear. But when t' battle arrived, a rude awakening be sure. For t' defeat tat followed, no elixir would cure.

Barely alive, in need of repair. T' ship was sinking, her crew in despair. T' enemy relentless, no quarter was awarded. T' Jayhawk now loomed, we were sure to be boarded.

But arr Captain, t' Leach, oter plans had he. T' Jayhawk he routed, along side t' Wildcat she now be.

Now our future uncertain, but t' booty calls. Our next foe t' Cowboy, said to have iron walls. We pray tey exagerate, we hope her hull be rotten. For we know t' stakes be high,  t' load she carries is cotton.

So again we sail, but who else will lead? Oter tan arr Captian, what Commander will heed? For our call is simple, as is our need. No interceptions allowed, make t' enemy bleed! Now grab your cutlass, may our sabers rattle indeed. Arr ship now bearing down, and picking up speed. Tis t' Cowboy ahead but short is her lead, as arr Captain screams from t' wheelhouse, RAMMING SPEED!!!!!!!!!!

WWWWWRRRRRREEEEECCCCKKK'EM TECH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!