The boat rides south o Ailsa Craig, in the waning of the light,
Theres thirty men in Lendalfit, tae mak our burden light.
Theres thirty horse at Hazelholm, with the halters on their heads.
All set this night upon you hight, if wind and water speed.
Smugglers drink of the Frenchmans wine,
And the darkest night is the smugglers time,
Away we ran from the exciseman,
Its a smugglers life for me,
Its a smugglers life for me.
O lass ye hea a cosy bed, and cattle ye hae ten,
Can ye no live-a lawful life, and live wi lawful men.
But must I live with namely goods, while theres foreign gear sae fine,
Must I drink at the waterside, and France sae full of wine.
O weel I like tae see ye Kate, with the bairnie on thy knee,
But my heart is now wi the gallant crew, that plough thro the angry sea,
The bitter-gales, the tightest sales, the sheltered bay our goal.
Its the wayward life, its the smugglers strife, its the joy of the smugglers soul.
And when at last the sun comes up, and the cargo safely stored,
Like sinless saints to church we go, Gods mercy to afford,
And its champagne fine for communion wine, and the parson drinks it too,
With a sly wink prays, forgive these men, for they know not what they do.