Cotton of the Sloop

Cotton come sailing on a silver dawn. Soft voice calling but the fear

rolls on. Sloop of war gliding like a whisper on the tide.

Smile on her face but the storm's inside. In St. Anna's Harbor they

speak her name. Friendly to the crew but ruthless in the flame. She'll lend a

hand, share among the peer, but cross her path and your

end grows near. Oh, Cotton of the sloop. Torpedoes screaming through

the night, lightning trails beneath the waves, no enemy in sight.

She's gentle as the breeze until the battle drums ignite. Cotton's wrath