Piracy’s a mug’s game – too dangerous by half.
Way back in the good times it used to be a breeze;
we’d commandeer a vessel and kill the fatted calf
and drink a toast to all of us as masters of the seas.

But now the navy’s on to us: ships bristling with guns,
and cruise ships aren’t as easy as they were in days of yore.
It’s time to find a new trick: it needs to fetch in tons.
Some game that’s interesting – I wouldn’t want a bore.

The old chap was a fisherman but that’s really not my style;
I’m happy with the sea but fish just do not pay enough.
And I’m a people person; I’ll go the extra mile
to give a hand to anyone who’s finding life is tough.

‘Fishers of men,’ the man said: that sounds up my street;
women too and kids of course; they’re camped along the shore.
Good honest folk they are, as nice as you could meet,
and every time I go there I’ll surely find there’s more.

Shell out a few piastres to get the boat in nick,
recruit a couple of likely lads to crew;
I’ll have a boatful ready in a quarter of a tick
and still leave some for next time, in the queue.

Cash certainly up front, of course, you never can be sure.
The sea’s a fickle mistress, as we know.
Should there be an accident, no point looking for a cure:
best make certain I’m left holding all the dough.