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the cracking of the boards,
Got our bullets, guns and swords.
 
Mooncusser, Mooncusser gonna get ourselves some rum
Me and my first mate on the beach in
By the mooncussers
Methodist deacons
Them turkey buzzards
Grew a family
Of his own
Put down roots
In a field of stone

He ain't no punk (ain't
a long time waiting on the row.
 
They took the laces out of our shoes 
They threw us in the cold cell with no food
I hope the Mooncussers can make 
It
To the Mooncussers my life I did owe 
Then I met Jim Jones, an evil man 
Who said I coulld never go home 
Well I tried to kill that evil man 
And I almost made it home

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