| Some say he steers a spectral ship
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| That’s ghostly, grey, and grand
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| He’s doomed to sail the seven seas
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| And never set foot on land
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| And if you chance to see him
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| You’ll soon be dead from fright
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| So sailors tell their children
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| On a dark and stormy night
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| Forty fathoms deep he walks
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| With rusty keys
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| His locker locks
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| Just he’s like he’s half asleep
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| He stalks
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| Forty fathoms deep
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| Forty fathoms deep he owns
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| Each sleeping sailor’s soggy bones
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| The legend they call Davy Jones
|
| At forty fathoms deep
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| Nor east we sail to Brimstone head
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| The captian, crew, and I
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| At sixteen knots we fairly flew
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| Beneath a darkening sky
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| A top the main mast I rode
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| Near ten stories high
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| Went up there blew an icy quarrel
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| And overboard went I
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| Forty fathoms deep he walks
|
| With rusty keys
|
| His locker locks
|
| Just he’s like he’s half asleep
|
| He stalks
|
| Forty fathoms deep
|
| Forty fathoms deep he owns
|
| Each sleeping sailor’s soggy bones
|
| The legend they call Davy Jones
|
| At forty fathoms deep
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| I hold my breath I say a prayer
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| For all thoes mates who died
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| I turn my back on Davy Jones
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| And cast my fears aside
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| Raise up my head
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| And kick my feet
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| And toward the light I go
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| The heartless jailer laft behind
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| The locker far below
|
| Forty fathoms deep he walks
|
| With rusty keys
|
| His locker locks
|
| Just he’s like he’s half asleep
|
| He stalks
|
| Forty fathoms deep
|
| Forty fathoms deep he owns
|
| Each sleeping sailor’s soggy bones
|
| The legend they call Davy Jones
|
| At forty fathoms deep
|
| Forty fathoms deep he walks
|
| With rusty keys
|
| His locker locks
|
| Just he’s like he’s half asleep
|
| He stalks
|
| Forty fathoms deep
|
| Forty fathoms deep he owns
|
| Each sleeping sailor’s soggy bones
|
| The legend they call Davy Jones
|
| At forty fathoms deep |