To hell with the French! – Sea Shanty

In “To Hell with the French (But I’ll Drink to Their Wine)”, centuries of cheeky rivalry meet cannonballs, cologne, and camembert. No hard feelings—just hardtack, humor, and a healthy dose of naval nonsense. Grab a pint, raise the Union Jack, and sing along… unless you’re French (then bring wine).

Now on Spotify
https://open.spotify.com/intl-de/album/1dv6pXSR67sA1KHXddcfzd

Lyrics:
[Verse 1]
Oh I sailed from the Isles with me cannonballs primed,
While the frogs on the coast sipped their claret and whined.
They dance in their lace and they strut in their hats,
But a broadside of iron soon flattens all that!

[Chorus]
To hell with the French and their fine savoir-faire,
Their powdered-up noses and perfuméd air!
They flirt and they fence, but they never play fair—
Still I’ll drink to their wine, if there’s plenty to spare!

[Verse 2]
They eat with their forks like they’re wooing a bride,
While we gnaw on hardtack with glory and pride.
Their ships may be swift, but they stink of cologne,
And their adm’rals wear wigs like a barmaid back home!

[Chorus]
To hell with the French and their soft silk and lace,
Their three-hour dinners and snail-eatin’ face!
They prance and they pose, but they’re quick to disgrace—
Still I’ll toast to their cheese in a desperate case!

[Verse 3]
They call us barbarians, loud and uncouth,
But their sails turn tail when we shout out the truth.
They parlez and pout while our broadsides do sing,
And they cry “Mon Dieu!” when we capture their king.

[Chorus]
To hell with the French and their soppin’ red wine,
Their fancy moustaches all curled so fine!
They duel with a spoon and retreat every time—
Still I’ll nick their champagne when we take the next line!

[Verse 4]
Their maidens are fair, I’ll grant ‘em that grace,
But they weep when we raid and set fire to the place.
They’ll serenade sheep with a lute in the fog,
While we bellow and brawl like a proud British dog!

[Chorus]
To hell with the French and their courtly romance,
Their powdered-up kings in their dainty old stance!
They’ll curtsey to death if you give ’em the chance—
Still I’ll dance with their girls, if I’m drunk in advance!

[Bridge]
So here’s to the foe on the opposite shore,
May we chase ’em and tease ‘em forever and more.
For though we may fight with a cannon or wrench—
I’d miss all the sport if there weren’t any French!

[Final Chorus]
To hell with the French and their fine savoir-faire,
Their powdered-up noses and perfuméd air!
They flirt and they fence, but they never play fair—
Still I’ll drink to their wine, if there’s plenty to spare!
To hell with the French, but I’ll raise up me glass,
To the saucy ol’ frogs with their powdered-up class.
They flee like the wind, but they’ve got charm and sass—
So here’s to our foes… may they never surpass!