One Very Rough Day On The Pride Of The Fray In The Scuppers A Poor Little Cabin-Boy Lay, When The Bosun Drew Nigh With Wrath In His Eye And Gave Him A Kick To Remember Him By, As He Cried With A Sneer: 'What Good Are You Here? Go Home To Your Mammy, My Bold Buccaneer.' Now The Captain Beheld, And His Pity Upwelled: With A Plug In The Peeper The Bosun He Felled. With Humility Grand He Extended His Hand And Helped The Poor Lad, Who Was Weeping, To Stand, As He Cried: 'Have No Fear; I'm The Manager Here. Take Heart, And You'll Yet Be A Bold Buccaneer.' But How He Did Flare When The Lad Then And There Doffed His Cap And Shook Down A Gold Banner Of Hair. Though His Movements Were Shy, he'd A Laugh In His Eye, And He Sank On The Captain'S Broad Breast With A Sigh, As He Cried: 'Is It Queer That I've Followed You Here? I'm Your Sweetheart From Bristol, My Bold Buccaneer.' On An Isle In The West, By The Breezes Caressed, The Bold Buccaneer Has A Warm Little Nest, And He Sits There In State Amid Pieces Of Eight And Tackles His Rum With A Manner Elate, As He Cries: 'O My Dear Little Cabin-Boy, Here Is A Toast To The Babe Of The Bold Buccaneer!'