Smith of Bristol - The Dubliners

Smith was a Bristol man and a rare old sort was he With his cutlass and his pistols, heave-ye-ho

With a noble crew of cut-throats he used to scour the sea

A’plundering and a’robbing high and low

He swore 'twas no concern, he did not give a herrin'

About right or wrong or any holy show

He swore that grabbing booty was Britain’s foremost duty

Wherever she could get it, heave-ye-ho

Heave-ye-ho, heave-ye-ho

He swore that grabbing booty was Britain’s foremost duty

Wherever she could get it, heave-ye-ho

Smith had a noble soul and lofty was his pride

With his cutlass and his pistols, heave-ye-ho

He’d watch his beaten foe-men jump out into the tide

Call you beggars who had nowhere else to go And hanging from his lanyards were Portuguese and Spaniards

And beaten Frenchmen jumping to and fro

Right along the blazing story shown allure in England’s glory

Pirate Smith of Bristol, heave-ye-ho

Heave-ye-ho, heave-ye-ho

Right along the blazing story shown allure in England’s glory

Pirate Smith of Bristol, heave-ye-ho

But accidents will happen even to heroes such as he With his cutlass and his pistols, heave-ye-ho

He was standing at his capstan as happy as could be Hoping soon to have another prize in tow

When a whistling Spanish bullet came and caught him in the gullet

And very sad to say, laid him low

He was only ninety-seven but his soul had gone to heaven

To rest on Nelson’s bosom, heave-ye-ho

Heave-ye-ho, heave-ye-ho

He was only ninety-seven but his soul had gone to heaven

To rest on Nelson’s bosom, heave-ye-ho