The Mariner is sailing
Sailing across the sea
Seeking out the enemy
Bringing spices back home to me

Spanish gold for the taking
At the harbour of Cadiz
Their fleet was left a-blazing
On the Ocean bed, stone cold, her cannons lie
Eldorado lies a shimmering
Shimmering like a mirage
Luring the merchant venturer
On a [bad word] grim and overlong voyage

Treasure laden galleons
Lemons, melons and quince
Strange exotic cargo
Gifts and garlands fit for the Prince

And [bad word] with a woman's wiles
Plays the coquette with politics and smiles [bad word] for a brain, but the body of a child
All temper and guile

And the girls on the beach
They are lying out of reach [bad word] oil on their skin
And roll in the sand of hated Spain
And the girls in sidewalk bars
Drink their coffee, smoke their cigars
And laugh at the waiting maid
Who cowers afraid of the Prince

And Gloriana in stiff starched lace
With pearls in her hair and thunder on her face
Screams with rage: has God left this place?
There's no God in this place

And the girls on the phone
Ring collect when they call home
And talk inconseuent
Will pass in a moment a thousand miles
And the girls in the airport lounge
Are awaiting the tannoy sound
For the flight to Brazil
With a couple of weeks to kill in the sun

And Gloriana so harsh and chaste
The soldier in her breast is raging at the waste
Of victories lost and battles left unfaced
For want of such haste

And the girls in high-strapped shoes
With a tan they never lose
Wear the cross of gold
In memory of stories told in Sunday School
And the girls without the Church
Leave their lovers in the lurch
But seldom sleep alone
And think no more of Rome than a tourist town

And Gloriana sits slumped on the throne
Her head in her hands is weeping alone
Dreaming of the past and times that are gone
Dreams of times [bad word] 
And the Mariner is sailing
Sailing across the sea
Seeking out the enemy
Bringing spices back home to me

Bring me my scallop shell of quiet
My staff of faith to walk upon
My scrip of joy, immortal diet
My bottle of salvation
My gown of glory, hope's [bad word] gauge
And thus I'll take my pilgramage