Come push the bowl about

Come push the bowl about; In that we'll drown all care, my boys; Come push the bowl about, Drink deep, and drink it out. The liquor's found; 'Twill raise your spirits higher, boys, To fight, kill, or wound; May we still be found, Rejoicing in our sate, my boys, On sea, or ground.

Why, messmates, why, Should we be melancholy, boys? Why, messmates, why, Decreed to live or die? What flinching? fie! Damn care, drink on; be jolly boys, 'Tis he, you, or I, Cold, hot, wet, or dry, We're always bound to follow, boys, And scorn to fly.

Let fate decide: I mean not to upbraid ye, boys: Whate'er betide, No sailor shall complain; Should next broadside, Send us to him that made us, boys, We're free from pain; But if we remain, A bottle and kind landlady Cure all again.