Sam Spritsail's a lad you'd delight in,
For friendship he's ever agog,
Loves his King, loves his wench, and loves fighting,
And he loves, to be sure, his old grog!
Says Sam, "Life's but a mere notion,
That wants from the spirit a jog,
This world is a wide troubled ocean,
And the Mariner's Compass is grog!"
For grog is our larboard and starboard,
Our mainsail, our mizzen, our log;
At sea or ashore, or when harbour'd,
The Mariner's Compass is grog!
Let grog take charge of the helm, Sir,
We'll fear not the rage of the sea,
Or if billows our ship o'erwhelm, Sir,
Still grog is the pilot for me!
Grog saves us the trouble of thinking,
So here's to each bold jolly dog,
And you who delights in good drinking,
Let's toss off a full can of grog!
Sam Spritsail loves his grog dearly,
Enraptur'd its praises he'll sing,
Yet he fights for his country most cheerly,
Loves his sweetheart and honours his King;
Sam's heart is splic'd to his Nancy's,
And his love would blaze through the fog,
Yet sailors have comical fancies,
And dear be his wench, he loves grog!