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