[All:]
Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh!
[Dolly:]
We've lost our pretty laces,
Our kerchiefs with the cases,
To wipe our pretty faces.
[All:]
Who ever knew such woes.
[Dolly:]
Our feathers, broidered fichus,
Our airy, fairy tissues,
Our surrah gowns, our French shoes,
[All:]
That pinched our pretty toes.
[Rufus:]
We're fleeced of wool and we are plucked of plume,
With not a pin-feather remaining.
[Miss Hurricane:]
But we should smile, and we should never fume,
For 'tis, you see, official gaining.
[Teddy:]
Bedad! Who knows, arrah! where plunder goes,
Yes, ah! where, oh! where does it go to?
[Rufus:]
It goes, it goes to feed the crows,
It goes, it goes in to-to.
[All:]
It goes, it goes to feed the crows,
It goes, it goes in to-to.
It goes, it goes to feed the crows,
It goes, it goes in to-to.