I'm afloat, I'm afloat on the coaly black Tyne!
The draft licence sent me I begged to decline;
Though other chaps had 'em, they were not for me;
I prefer a free flag, on the strictest Q.T.
A sly "floating factory" thus I set up
(I'm a mixture of RUPERT the Rover and KRUPP).
At Jarrow Slake moored, my trim wherry or boat
I rejoiced in, and sung "I'm afloat! I'm afloat!"
For quick-firing guns ammunition I made,
Engaging (says FORD) in the contraband trade.
An inquest _was_ held, but its verdict cleared _me_.
I'm afloat, I'm afloat, and the Rover is free!

I fear not the Government, heed not its law.
Much rumpus is made, we shall hear lots of jaw:
An explosion took place on October the third,
My sly "floating factory" blew up like a bird.
It killed one poor fellow, and damaged a lot,
But I am a Great Gun, and got off like a shot;
Indeed all were well, but for cold Colonel FORD,
Who blames _me_, the Rover! Too bad, on my word!
The Pirate of Elswick shall not be the sport
of a fussy Commission's ill-tempered Report.
To bring me to book is all fiddlededee--
I'm afloat, I'm afloat, and the Rover is free!

I contraband, careless? Why, everyone owns
_That_ is natural, 'neath the black flag and cross-bones.
No mere paltry maker of fireworks am I,
But a Rover who's free, whose sole roof is the sky.