Some are fond of red wine and some are fond of white And some are old for dancing by the pale moonlight
The rumble hums a tickle and the hearts delight Of the old poem made to Henry Morgan
Some are fond of Spanish wine and some are fond of French And some will spoil the taste of it only for a wench
But I'm for right Jamaica till I roll beneath the bench Says the old poem made to Henry Morgan
Some are for the lily and some are for the rose But I am for the sugarcane that in Jamaica grows
For it's that that makes your body green, so warm you clock the nose Says the old poem made to Henry Morgan
Some are fond of fiddles and the song will sung And some are old for music or to lift upon the tongue
The bow's are made for tangoes and for sucking at the buns Says the old poem made to Henry Morgan
Some are fond of dancing and some are fond of dice And some are old for red lids and pretty elastic eyes
But a right Jamaica butcher is the final prize To the old poem made to Henry Morgan
Some are spoiling only ones they hold and it's a sin To troll the jolly all around and let the door spin
But I'm for toleration and for drinking at an inn Says the old poem made to Henry Morgan
Some must have a ready coat or go in silken suits And there's a morgue to wiggy rogues and living good refuse
So I'm for drinking honestly and dying in me boots Like the old poem made to Henry Morgan
The old poem made to Henry Morgan The old poem made to Henry Morgan