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Many a year I have worked in these parts |
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Running this inn that ain't marked on no charts |
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Though its location to many is known |
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If you're to find it you have to be shown |
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Through methods long hidden we carefully craft |
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A beverage to rival the Huntmaster's draught |
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The mere smell of which, the Gods would entice |
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And them that know call it that Famous Ol' Spiced |
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Here sits a man, a smuggler by trade |
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A-boastin' of all of the money he's made |
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Runnin' his liquor to here and to there |
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Travellin' all over and peddlin' his wares |
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He says he's had beers from Prussia and wines |
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Taken from all of the very best vines |
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But none of these tipples could ever suffice |
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So I'll bring him a jug of that Famous Ol' Spiced |
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Oh, pour me a slug of it |
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Throw me a mug of it |
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Bring me a jug of that Famous Ol' Spiced |
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In walks a sailor all battered and blue |
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Fallen afoul of his captain and crew |
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They'd pulled in to port, their cargo was stacked |
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But three hours later he's caught in the act |
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Acquainting himself with the skipper's own wife |
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This fool was lucky to leave with his life |
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He's not here for doctors or friendly advice |
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He just wants a jug of that Famous Ol' Spiced |
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Oh, pour me a slug of it |
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Throw me a mug of it |
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Bring me a jug of that Famous Ol' Spiced |
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For men of the sea go as fast as they come |
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And leave little more than the tales they have spun |
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So sing me your sermon and pay me my price |
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And I'll give you a jug of that Famous Ol' Spiced |
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Oh, pour me a slug of it |
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Throw me a mug of it |
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Bring me a jug of that Famous Ol' Spiced |
