Oh, the year was 1778
      How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now
When a letter of marque came from the king
to the scummiest vessel I've ever seen.
      God damn them all! I was told
      We'd cruise the seas for American gold,
      We'd fire no guns, shed no tears.
      Now I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier,
      The last of Barrett's Privateers

Oh, Elcid Barrett cried the town
      How I wish...
For twenty brave men, all fishermen, who
Would make for him the Antelope's crew.
      God damn...

Well, the Antelope sloop was a sickening sight.
She'd a list to the port, and her sails in rags,
And the cook in the scuppers with the staggers and jags.

On the king's birthday we put to sea.
We were 91 days to Montego Bay,
A-pumping like madmen all the way.

On the 96th day we sailed again,
When a bloody great Yankee hove in sight.
With our cracked four-pounders we made to fight.

Oh, the Yankee lay low down with gold.
She was broad and fat and loose in stays,
But to catch her took the Antelope two whole days.

At length we stood two cables away.
Our cracked four-pounders made an awful din,
But with one fat ball the Yank stove us in.

The Antelope pitched and lay on her side.
Barrett was smashed like a bowl of eggs,
And the main truck carried off both my legs.

Now here I sit, in my twenty-third year.
It's been six years since we sailed away,
And I just made Halifax yesterday.