There's a boat lying wrecked near Manila,
there's some treasure hid under a stone;
there's a bird calling out in the morning
to the girl on a cruel telephone.
The phone rang out in the courthouse
where the captain was standing alone,
the judge brought in two hundred soldiers
who refused to bow down to the throne.
The throne was broken and bloodied,
the sceptre had dropped on the floor,
the Prince was hanged from the lampstand, the chaplain ran off with his whore.
That boat that lies wrecked near Manila,
is encrusted with diamonds and lead,
its gallons of aged Irish whiskey
have made a new home in my head.
Good night to the captains and mermaids, goodnight to the quick and the dead;
don't bother to blush in the morning
when you wake up with three in your bed.