Lyrics:
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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