Yo-ho-ho

How happy, my comrades, how happy are we, / While drawing fish from the dark rolling sea, / While drawing fish from the dark rolling sea. / Yo ho, yo ho, yo ho, ho, ho!

We're rolling along, rolling along, / As over the sea we go, / As over the sea we go, / And our anchor we heave, while we're singing our song. / Sing yo! ho! cheery men, ho! / Sing yo! cheery men, ho!

The endless ballad had come to an end at last, and the whole diminished company about the camp fire had broken into the chorus I had heard so often:— / "Fifteen men on the dead man's chest— / Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum! / Drink and the devil had done for the rest— / Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"

Where the Ships sail down / To the Western Sun / Alone in the Ocean Blue, / Yo ho ho! Yo ho ho! / Yo ho ho! Yo ho ho!

'With a yo ho ho and we'll raise the flag, / We've lots of cake in a paper bag. / We've six watermelons and pizza too. / It's a pirate's life for me and you!' / The sound of singing—well, something like singing, anyway—floated up from the creek.

When Asha threw the hair clip, the pirates jumped like flying fish to grab it. Pirate Joe leaped the highest and caught it. "Yo ho ho! It's mine!" he said.