She took her tide and she passed the Bar with the first o' the morning light;
She dipped her flag to the coast patrol at the coming on o' the night;
She has left the lights of the friendly shore and the smell o' the English land,
And she's somewhere South o' the Fastnet now . . .
God help her . . . South o' the Fastnet now . . .
Playing her own lone hand.

She is ugly and squat as a ship may be, she was new when the
Ark
was new,
But she runs her risk and she takes her chance as well as the best may do,
And it's little she heeds the lurking death and little she gets of fame,
Out yonder South o' the Fastnet now . . .
God help her . . . South o' the Fastnet now . . .
Playing her own lone game.

She has played it once, she has played it twice, she has played it times a score,
Her luck and her pluck are the two trump cards that have won her the game before,
And life is the stake where the tin fish run, and Death is the dealer's name
Out yonder South o' the Fastnet now . . .
God help her . . . South o' the Fastnet now . . .
Playing her own lone game!