Lyric Pirate Jenny
You lads see me wash the glasses, wipe the floors,
Make the beds, I m the best of servants.
You can kindly throw me pennies and I ll thank you very much.
When you see me ragged and tattered in this dirty shit hotel,
You don t know in hell who s talking,
You still don t know in hell who s talking.
Yet one fine day there will be roars from the harbour
And you ll ask, "What is all that screeching for ?"
And you ll see me smiling as I dunk the glasses
And you ll say, "What s she got to smile at for ?"
And the ship, eight sails shining,
Fifty-five cannons wide, Sir,
Waits there at the quay.
You say, "Work on, wipe the glasses, my girl."
And just slip me a dirty six-pence.
And your pennies will be taken, and your beds will be made,
(But I doubt if forty winks will come anybody s way)
And you still don t know in hell who s talking,
You still don t know in hell who s talking.
Still one fine day there ll be a loud bang from the harbour,
And you ll ask, "Jesus Christ, what was that bang ?"
And you ll see me standing right behind the window,
And you ll say, "Why has she got the evil eye ?"
And the ship, eight sails shining,
Fifty-five cannons wide, Sir,
Will be aimed at this town.
So then lads, it s time for tears, no more laughs at the bar,
For the walls will be at your ankles.
And look out, lads, the town will be flat as the ground,
This dirty shit hotel will be spared wrack and ruin
And you ll say, "Who is the fancy bitch lives there ?"
You ll say, "Who is the fancy bitch lives there ?"
There ll be rows of people running round the hotel
And you ll ask, "Why should they have spared this hovel ?"
And you ll see me in the morning leaving lightly
And you ll say, "That one, her , she lived there ?"
The same ship, eight sails shining,
Fifty-five cannons wide, Sir,
Flies crossbones and skull.
In the midday sun a hundred men will step ashore
All tramping where shadows crawled.
They ll lay their hands on men, hiding shit-scared behind doors
Lead them in chains here before this silent woman,
And they ll say, "Well, which ones shall we kill ?"
They ll say, "Which ones shall we kill ?"
Come the dot of twelve, it will be still in the harbour,
When they ask me, "Well, who is going to die ?"
And you ll hear me whispering, oh, so sweetly, "All of them!"
And as the soft heads fall, I ll say, "Hop-l¨¤!"
That same ship, eight sails shining,
Fifty-five cannons wide, Sir,
Disappears with me.
The Salomon Song.
Make the beds, I m the best of servants.
You can kindly throw me pennies and I ll thank you very much.
When you see me ragged and tattered in this dirty shit hotel,
You don t know in hell who s talking,
You still don t know in hell who s talking.
Yet one fine day there will be roars from the harbour
And you ll ask, "What is all that screeching for ?"
And you ll see me smiling as I dunk the glasses
And you ll say, "What s she got to smile at for ?"
And the ship, eight sails shining,
Fifty-five cannons wide, Sir,
Waits there at the quay.
You say, "Work on, wipe the glasses, my girl."
And just slip me a dirty six-pence.
And your pennies will be taken, and your beds will be made,
(But I doubt if forty winks will come anybody s way)
And you still don t know in hell who s talking,
You still don t know in hell who s talking.
Still one fine day there ll be a loud bang from the harbour,
And you ll ask, "Jesus Christ, what was that bang ?"
And you ll see me standing right behind the window,
And you ll say, "Why has she got the evil eye ?"
And the ship, eight sails shining,
Fifty-five cannons wide, Sir,
Will be aimed at this town.
So then lads, it s time for tears, no more laughs at the bar,
For the walls will be at your ankles.
And look out, lads, the town will be flat as the ground,
This dirty shit hotel will be spared wrack and ruin
And you ll say, "Who is the fancy bitch lives there ?"
You ll say, "Who is the fancy bitch lives there ?"
There ll be rows of people running round the hotel
And you ll ask, "Why should they have spared this hovel ?"
And you ll see me in the morning leaving lightly
And you ll say, "That one, her , she lived there ?"
The same ship, eight sails shining,
Fifty-five cannons wide, Sir,
Flies crossbones and skull.
In the midday sun a hundred men will step ashore
All tramping where shadows crawled.
They ll lay their hands on men, hiding shit-scared behind doors
Lead them in chains here before this silent woman,
And they ll say, "Well, which ones shall we kill ?"
They ll say, "Which ones shall we kill ?"
Come the dot of twelve, it will be still in the harbour,
When they ask me, "Well, who is going to die ?"
And you ll hear me whispering, oh, so sweetly, "All of them!"
And as the soft heads fall, I ll say, "Hop-l¨¤!"
That same ship, eight sails shining,
Fifty-five cannons wide, Sir,
Disappears with me.
The Salomon Song.
