Aici zace un om fara cuvinte.
Schooner
We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors We'll rant and we'll roar across the salt seas Until we strike soundings in the channel of Old England From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues. Now the first land we made it is called the Deadman Next Ram Head off Plymouth, off Portland the Wight We sailed by Beachy, by Fairlee and Dungeness Till we came abreast of the South Foreland Light We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors We'll rant and we'll roar across the salt seas Until we strike soundings in the channel of Old England From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues Then the signal was made for the grand fleet to anchor All in the Downs that night for to lie Then it's stand by your stoppers, see clear your shank-painters, Haul all your clew garnets, let tacks and sheets fly We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors We'll rant and we'll roar across the salt seas Until we strike...