They’re goin’ to a place they can disappear,
Or else they’ll be pursued on the sea, there to here.
They find an island and toward it the helmsman steers
To beach it, just beach it.

They’re on the run, and each is a hunted man,
’cause Bligh’s out for their blood; to catch ’em is his plan.
Though waves there are rough, they’ll do what they can
And beach it; some are glad, some are sad.

Must beach it, beach it, beach it,
Or else they might be defeated.
So they will run it aground from the bight
After ship shatters, then set it alight—
First beach it.

Law’s out to get ’em; they know that is the plan;
Here they just might find joy, on this small speck of land.
They want to stay alive, not be put in the can—
They beached it.

This is unknown land; not a chart will show where
This lazy island’s site is to which they repair.
They trick all those who seek ’em;
They won’t fall in a snare—
They beat ’em.

They beat ’em, beat ’em
Their pursuers won’t defeat ’em.
Though they mutinied, what they did was right
Even setting the king’s ship alight,

Post-beach-it, beach it, beach it,
Now the Crown will never reach it.
They find livin’ on this island’s alright;
If found, they’d be in a ton of shite
And beaten, hanged, worm-eaten.

[Repeat like the endless ebb and flow of the tide, which has been going on since time immemorial only slightly longer than the tedious repetition of the OS.]