On the eleventh of April 1912
The queen of the ocean had started her life
With thirteen thousand pa**engers she sailed out from cork
Lead by nine hundred sailors on her way to new york
Uh, uh, uh, riddle of the century
Uh, uh, uh, pride of the white-star-line
Uh, uh, uh ye became a wet reliquary
Uh, uh, uh, a victim of the brine
On the fourteenth of April at 11.40 pm
An outlook guy named Freddy Fleet the alarm bell he did ring
Captain Smith he gave the order: "half steam ahead!" he cried
As the steamer got a narrow shave from a giant in the night
Uh, uh, uh, riddle of the century
Uh, uh, uh, pride of the white-star-line
Uh, uh, uh ye became a wet reliquary
Uh, uh, uh, a victim of the brine
Oh well the water filled the liner
And the d**h-struggle takes three hours
The operator's working hard an emergency he morsed
"California can't you hear me, and is your wireless working there?"
Wallace Hartley and his rag-time-band played a tune called Derry Air
Uh, uh, uh, riddle of the century
Uh, uh, uh, pride of the white-star-line
Uh, uh, uh ye became a wet reliquary
Uh, uh, uh, a victim of the brine
On the fifteenth of April 1912
The queen of the ocean had ended her life
Eighteen lifeboats were in store seven hundred for to save
But fifteen hundred pa**engers rest in their icy grave
Uh, uh, uh, riddle of the century
Uh, uh, uh, pride of the white-star-line
Uh, uh, uh ye became a wet reliquary
Uh, uh, uh, a victim of the brine