Sea Traders

Droppin' down to Rio on a buckin' wooden tramp;
Takin' water for'r'd till her rotten planks were damp;
Pitchin' like a bronco from the time we left the Keys;
Listin' like a kettle when she took the quarter seas;
Loaded to the gunnels, making four knots an hour;
Steadied with her stays'l, but swaying like a flower;
Half a crew o' Cubans, an' a pair o' Swedish mates;
That's the way we traded from Fuego to the States.

Callin' at Jamaica for a scuttle-butt o' rum;
Lazin' at fiestas till we spent our shippin' sum;
Stricken with the fever, from the islands where it grew;
Fightin' for our rations in a lazy, drunken crew;
Reelin' round the Indies, makin' port or makin' sail;
Beatin' up to windward in a Carribean gale;
Dippin' down to Rio, Buenos Aires or the Straits —
That's the way we traded from Fuego to the States.