Yarr, I get ye ol' rotten peg legged scallywag. Now, does any of ye land lubbers wanna piece o' me? I bet I could take on that Tolub myself, I tell ye, and that good for nuffin' Jack Sparrow as well, yarrr! Was that pirate enough, matey?
Its not our fault you are still living in the past. Meanwhile, Ahoy me maties, lets go a swashbucklin on the high seas. Lets see if we can find ourselves some loot and some wenches. Any you lilly livered, scurvy dogs, don't feel up to it, we will keelhaul to see if that helps change your mind.
Avast, ye lubbers! Wot's all this 'ere makin' sport o' the way we talks? Why, I'll run ye through with a rusty boathook, and hang ye from the yardarm. Ye'll not feel so clever, swingin' in the breeze and cryin' like a sucklin' babe wot's lost 'is mum! Aargh! To Davey Jones with all o' ye!
the pirate song To the mast nail our flag it is dark as the grave, Or the death which it bears while it sweeps o'er the wave; Let our deck clear for action, our guns be prepared; Be the boarding-axe sharpened, the scimetar bared: Set the canisters ready, and then bring to me, For the last of my duties, the powder-room key. It shall never be lowered, the black flag we bear; If the sea be denied us, we sweep through the air. Unshared have we left our last victory's prey; It is mine to divide it, and yours to obey: There are shawls that might suit a sultana's white neck, And pearls that are fair as the arms they will deck. There are flasks which, unseal them, the air will disclose Diametta's fair summers, the home of the rose. I claim not a portion: I ask but as mine 'Tis to drink to our victory - one cup of red wine. Some fight, 'tis for riches - some fight, 'tis for fame: The first I despise, and the last is a name. I fight, 'tis for vengeance! I love to see flow, At the stroke of my sabre, the life of my foe. I strike for the memory of long-vanished years; I only shed blood where another shed tears, I come, as the lightning comes red from above, O'er the race that I loathe, to the battle I love.
