And we’ll keep the brig three p’ints away, for it’s time for us to go.”
Oh yard-arm under she did plunge in the trough of the deep seas,
And her masts they thrashed about like whips as she bowled before the breeze,
And every yard did buckle up like to a bending bow,
But her spars were tough as whalebone, and ’twas time for us to go.
We dropped the cruiser in the night, and our cargo landed we,
And ashore we went, with our pockets full of dollars, on the spree.
And when the liquor it is out, and the locker it is low,
Then to sea again, in the ebony trade, ’twill be time for us to go.
Time for us to go,