Push for PORTER

izquierdaThe Flying Cloudderecha

My name is Arthur Hollander, as you may understand
I was born ten miles from Dublin Town, down on the salt-sea strand,
When I was young and' comely, sure, good fortune on me shone,
My father reared loved me tenderly I being his only son.

My father he rose up one day and with him I did go,
He bound me as a butcher's boy to Pearson of Wicklow,
I wore the bloody apron there for three long years and more,
Till I shipped on board of The Ocean Queen belonging to Tramore.

It was on Bermuda's love isle that I met with Captain Moore,
The Captain of The Flying Cloud, sailing out from Baltimore,
I undertook to ship with him on a slaving voyage to go,
To the burning shores of Africa, where the sugar cane does grow.

It all went well until the day we reached old Africa's shore,
Five hundred of them poor slaves, me boys, from their native land we tore,
Each man was loaded down with chains as we made them walk below,
Just eighteen inches of space was all that each man had to show.

The plague it came and fever too and killed them off like flies,
We dragged their bodies on the deck and dumped them in the tide,
For sure, the dead were the lucky ones for they'd have to weep no more,
Nor fear the chain or bear the lash in Cuba for evermore.

But now our money is all gone, we strode the shore once more,
and each man stayed and listened to the words of Captain Moore,
'There's gold and silver to be had if with me you'll remain,
We'll hoist the pirate flag aloft and scour the Spanish Main.'

The Flying Cloud was a Yankee ship, five hundred tons or more,
She could outsail any clipper ship sailing out from Baltimore,
With her canvas white as the driven snow and on it there's no specks,
And forty men and fourteen guns she carried below her decks.

We fought and plundered many a ship down on the Spanish Main,
Killed many a man and left his wife and children to remain,
To none we showed no kindness but gave them watery graves ,
For the saying of our captain was: "Dead men tell no tales. "

We ran and fought with many a ship, both frigates and liners too,
Till, one day, a British Man-O-War, The Dunmow, hove in view,
She fired a shot across our bows as we sailed before the wind,
And a chainshot cut our mainmast down and we fell far behind.

They cut our crew to quarters as they drew up alongside,
And very soon across our decks there ran a crimson tide,
We fought until they killed our captain and twenty of our men,
Then a bombshell set our ship on fire, we had to surrender then.

Tis now to Newgate we have come, bound down with iron chains ,
For the sinking and the plundering of ships on the Spanish Main,
The judge he has condemned us and sentenced us to die.
Young men a warning by me Lead not such a life as I.

Farewell to Dublin Town and the girl that I adore,
I'll never kiss your lips again nor hold your hand no more,
Whiskey and bad company have made a wretch of me,
Young men, a warning by me take and shun all piracy.