There is a riot on shipboard. Above us-seagulls, flying.
Last night because of some gold coins,
Two scoundrels have been barely punished,
But too few - it should have been four.

So catch the wind with all the sails,
We shouldn’t guess-any ship is our enemy.
The luck is a myth, and this great belief of ours
We created by raising the black flag.

The lump from a tank rolled through the ship,
All is forgotten - all honor and carouses.
And howling loud as though from fear -
They quickly took out their long knives.

So catch the wind with all the sails,
We shouldn’t guess-any ship is our enemy.
The luck is a myth, and this great belief of ours
We created by raising the black flag.

Now two are pointing fingers at the captain -
"Get him now!" - and they don’t fear hell.
But the captain took yesterday’s prey,
And threw it over the board.

So catch the wind with all the sails,
We shouldn’t guess-any ship is our enemy.
The luck is a myth, and this great belief of ours
We created by raising the black flag.

But soon the wave, similar to the grave tomb,
Washed everything off, the hand is thrown off the throat.
Throw everything over the deck that smells like blood,
And believe that the price is not that high.

So catch the wind with all the sails,
We shouldn’t guess-any ship is our enemy.
The luck is a myth, and this great belief of ours
We created by raising the black flag.