<Loud as you can say it>
I am Outlaw!
         -call me Pirate!
I live such freedom,
         all souls admire it!
The awful God,
        has judged my soul,
Weighs his measure,
          I'll pay my toll!

<In a high-pitched voice>
The sailor's way,
        path unknown,
Stars are clouded,
        nothing shown?
The sea's are high,
        a storm is here,
Davey Jones' Locker,
        my home is near.

<Loud again, yell it>
There is no heaven,
        there is no hell,
Life on seas,
        the seas they swell,
Fish scales on arms,
         scales on my legs,
Heart born free,
         dread-locked and dregs!

I am Outlaw!
          -call me Pirate!
Lost lives redeemed,
          some should admire it,
The ship upended,
          all hands to drown,
In Davey Jones' Locker,
          a peaceful sound...

<In a high-pitched voice>
The sailor's way,
        path unknown,
Stars are clouded,
        nothing shown?
My time has ended,
        fate is near,
Davey Jones' Locker,
        my death is here.

<Loud again, yell it>
I am Outlaw!
         -call me Pirate!
A man of valor,
          some do admire it.

I am Outlaw!
          -call me Pirate!
A dreadful life,
           though some desire it.

I am Outlaw!
          -call me Pirate!
To Davey Jones' Locker,
          my deeds require it.

I am Outlaw!
          -call me Pirate!

I AM OUTLAW!
          -CALL ME PIRATE!

I am Outlaw!!
          -call me Pirate!
My life on the ocean,
          my God inside it.

I heard the bad news Monday morning

Everybody's saying,"Wow, what a drag."

Seems the skin heads had some point to prove

Now little Davey's dead in his sleeping bag

so I found myself a spot with green grass

somewhere way on down in the United States

Had a jug of wine, I had some time to pass

I picked up my guitar and I began to play

For the lovers on the on ramp

and the old men in the park

for the bad side of the city

the little fishes and the sharks

and those who give so much to life

and those that take away

and those who work so hard to get by

while Davey..................

Davey found the time to play.

We'd see little Davey up on the corner

playing like he didn't have a choice

we never thought that he'd go anywhere

He couldn't play guitar, he didn't have a voice

but we'd hang out and listen to him anyway

there was something bout his style

You know it wasn't so much the way he played

I think it was the way he smiled

while he sang

about the lovers on the the on ramp

and the old men in the park

about the bad side of the city

the little fishes and the sharks

Those who give so much to life

and those who take away

and those who work so hard to get by

while Davey.....................

Davey had the time to play.

We heard the bad news Monday morning

everybody's saying, "Wow, what a drag."

Seems the skin heads had a point to prove

Now little Davey's dead in his sleeping bag...........