A new choon from Peter

[Peter]

I sing on this one. Clearly my entry for most unique / demented Sraffie 2007!!!

Spanish Ladies

[Blossom]

Ooo, sailors. Very Decemberisty, me likes

[bethanwy]

It's very cool, Peter.

[Ian]

I muchly likes!

[jessia]

i like your singing voice (i also like the song), it's very like.... roguey/broody/can't think of the appropriate word right away.

[Cookiemonster]

I enjoyed that, very good

[Jamie]

Really good, creates an interesting atmosphere =)

[Anoria]

Very nice I want to listen to it more so I can sing along.

[Peter]

Very nice I want to listen to it more so I can sing along.

Here it is, complete with chords (but they're not the ones I use):

Spanish Ladies

[Am] Farewell and adieu unto [C] you Spanish [G] ladies,
[Am] Farewell and adieu to you [C] ladies of [G] Spain;
[Am] For it's we've received [G] orders for to [F] sail for old [Am] England,
[Am] But we hope very [G] soon we shall [F] see you [Am] again.

Then we hove our ship to the wind at sou'-west, my boys,
We hove our ship to our soundings for to see;
So we rounded and sounded, and got forty-five fathoms,
We squared our main yard, up channel steered we.

Now the first land we made it is called the Deadman,
Then Ram Head off Plymouth, Start, Portland and Wight;
We sailed by Beachy, by Fairlee and Dungeness,
Until we came abreast of the South Foreland Light.

We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors,
We'll rant and we'll roar across the salt seas,
Until we strike soundings in the Channel of old England,
From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues.

Then the signal was made for the grand fleet for to anchor,
All in the downs that night for to meet;
Then it's stand by your stoppers, see clear your shank-painters,
Haul all your clew garnets, stick out tacks and sheets.

We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors,
We'll rant and we'll roar across the salt seas,
Until we strike soundings in the Channel of old England,
From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues.

Now let every man toss off a full bumper,
And let every man toss off a full bowl;
And we'll drink and be merry and drown melancholy,
Singing, here's a good health to all true-hearted souls.

We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors,
We'll rant and we'll roar across the salt seas,
Until we strike soundings in the Channel of old England,
From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues.