'Twas quite the inky black night 

All the weather vanes were turning 

And the constable was burning out his light 



When low our anchors went down, barnacle bound 

The men were up and churning 

Yes, and soon the square was burning to the ground 

And oh the flames were as gold 



I scour at the angry moon 

I am sick on myself I'm a bum 

What have I become 

A drunken maroon run aground 

In this rotten town 



It's been a fortnight or two 

The mutant ears are plotting against the captain as I'm rotting in the goo 

The constable was set to drown while the shabby scabs that went to town were reconnoitering with blades and gun 

But the ale had started spilling 

Yes, and soon the crew was killing everyone 



And all the streets burned with gold, 

Baha'ullah My bones were so cold 



I scour at the angry moon 

I am sick on myself I'm a bum 

What have I become 

A drunken maroon run aground 

In this rotten town 



I still walk down the harbor to the tavern on the square 

and heard a raucous ruckus as it rang 

from some foul inebriates 



some men I used to call my mates 

were lost in song and this is what they sang 

they sang 



"Hey, hi, oh, ho! O'er the Atlantic we go 

Drinking 'till we all get sick 

And coming up with limericks 

But we never quite remember how they end" 



I can see my childhood home 

I think of my dear old mum 

What have I become 



I scour at the angry moon 

I am sick on myself I'm a bum 

What have I become 

A drunken maroon run aground 

In this rotten town (I scour at the angry moon) 



I am sick on myself I'm a bum 

What have I become 

A drunken maroon run aground 

In this rotten town (I scour at the angry moon) 



I am sick on myself I'm a bum 

What have I become 

A drunken maroon run aground 

In this rotten town (In this rotten) 

In this rotten, In this rotten 

Town!