Armory of captains' queue,
she's out - Amiral Lartigue.
Made from stash of steel,
monster built from keel.
Gonna get you slap,
watch my shoulder strap:
Golden anchor,
five silver stars,
Admiral of navy,
right from Mars.
Captains with their salute,
I command force l’brute.
I was born for this cruiser,
I am natural to this bruiser.
Her big guns,
caught me in trance.
Skipping-bombs flight,
I don't feel it's right.
Hit that battle button,
I am evil phantom.
Admiral of navy,
folks in port waving.
Everything was going well,
until my team burns’ smell.
Enemies rushed over,
I don't feel my chances lower.
Few salvos from my guns. -
Ricochet on Wooster? Retreat.
I feel my neck in heat.
Fires on deck,
what the heck...
My squads took off,
pilots were tough.
Bomb released,
"Terror, please!"
Promising drop,
bomb jumped hop-hop,
target evasive turn,
my hopes are burned,
slipped beneath the waves,
with all hands and my faith.
Life is unfair and cruel,
hate my Amiral Fatigue.