Underneath a cloudy sky
Sail my fearsome crew and I.
To some I give the chance to live,
But most who’ve crossed my path have died.
All I drink are jugs of rum
From lunch until the morning comes.
And all I eat is rotten meat
That’s cooked below a wicked sun.
An ancient map, gripped in my hook,
Shows to us the way to look
To find a treasure far from measure;
Wealthy soon, no longer crooks!
