Abney Park

Our fires high and the airbags tight
Food's low but the skies are bright
Props spinning all through the night
We're low on cash but seen another target
Goggles down and the cannons up
My blood starts pumping as I drain my cup
I give the wheel a spin and I turn this girl around
We're way above ground but we're closed in on our target
Flying Jib is filled with air
East India ships filled with despair
We even up, her broadsides bare
Our cannons flair but it’s just a show of muscle
Steady on, she doesn’t need to burn
She tries to flee and she tries to turn
Grappling fire, we latch her hull
She’s starting to roll, but we’ve got her on a leash
With a crew of drunken pilots