Sing The Slave Trader's Chanty .

I

All the way to Guadaloupe, around the horn and back again,
Shores that seem a dusky dream of ebony and spice;
Shifting of our cargoes there and out upon the track again,
Loaded down with black and brown and magic merchandise.
Isfahan and Hindustan, we leave 'em all in peace again.
Up the straits and through the gates of hell itself we roar.
For now we hold the talisman, we've found the Golden Fleece again;
Slaves are what we're after — and we've shipped a hundred more!

CHORUS

So, sing a song of bank-notes, a cabin full of rye;
Four and ninety blackbirds for any man to buy;
Four and ninety blackbirds jammed into the hold —
And we're the mystic merchants, for we turn 'em into gold!

II

We used to hear the jackal scream, we listened to the cockatoo;
" Arroompah " went the elephant, a-thundering in his bones.
The Indian girls were free with pearls and stuffed 'em in our pocket too;
The very sands of those far lands were strewn with shining stones.
It cost us time and money then, perhaps a strong-armed hint or two
To barter with a Tartar though we robbed him all we could.
But now some colored beads, a keg of rum, a gaudy print or two —
And we're a thousand dollars (and a nigger) to the good!

CHORUS

Four and ninety blackbirds of every size and shade;
Four and ninety blackbirds, safe as safe can be.
Boreas shall blow for us;
Poseidon's hand shall guide us;
Mercury shall chauffeur us,
And Fortune walk beside us.
Apollo too shall join the crew and sing as loud as we,
A catch and a carol to the old Slave Trade;
The sport of all the Kings that sail the sea!