For the rebel he was locked outside—of him we had no fears;
But I never shall forget until I come unto my grave,
How we were saved on the Guinea coast by the sea-light and the wave.
Chorus. Rolling over, rolling over, rolling on.
The roaring waves they came,
Like water into fire all gone,
For the sea was all of a flame.
Quoth Nat of Stonington, “That is a bruiser,
And yet I know darn’d well it could be done
With the third wave—but talking of a cruiser,