Then spoke Grim Sam of Jersey, “As we’ve heard A mermaid or a witch is the same bird, But of a different feather, so a pirate, And slaver, is all one for guards to fire at, For pirates kill and plunder all they catch, And slavers at the same are just their match; There ain’t no special difference” (it was said That Sam himself well knew the Guinea trade, And half-way to the devil had sent his soul By running into Cuba “sacks of coal”)— And then he sang to us right merrily A slaver’s song, which was not writ by me. TIME FOR US TO GO With sails let fall and sheeted home, and clear of the ground were we, We passed the bank, stood round the light, and sailed away to sea; The wind was fair and the coast was clear, and the brig was noways slow, For she was built in Baltimore, and ’twas time for us to go. Time for us to go, Time for us to go, For she was built in Baltimore, and ’twas time for us to go. A quick run to the West we had, and when we made the Bight, We kept the offing all day long, and crossed the bar at night. Six hundred niggers in the hold, and seventy we did stow, And when we’d clapped the hatches on, ’twas time for us to go. We hadn’t been three days at sea before we saw a sail, So we clapped on every inch she’d stand, although it blew a gale, And we walked along full fourteen knots, for the barkie she did know, As well as ever a soul on board, ’twas time for us to go. We carried away the royal yards, and the stun’sle boom was gone, Says the skipper, “They may go or stand; I’m darned if I don’t crook on. So the weather braces we’ll round in, and the trys’le set also, And we’ll keep the brig three p’ints away, for it’s time for us to go.” Oh yard-arm under she did plunge in the trough of the deep seas, And her masts they thrashed about like whips as she bowled before the breeze, And every yard did buckle up like to a bending bow, But her spars were tough as whalebone, and ’twas time for us to go. We dropped the cruiser in the night, and our cargo landed we, And ashore we went, with our pockets full of dollars, on the spree. And when the liquor it is out, and the locker it is low, Then to sea again, in the ebony trade, ’twill be time for us to go. Time for us to go, Time for us to go, Then to sea again, in the ebony trade, ’twill be time for us to go.