And the lady she hails from Trinidad Island of the spices Salt for your meat and cinnamon sweet And the rum is for all your good vices Haul the sheet in as we ride on the wind that our Forefathers harnessed before us Hear the bells ring as the tight rigging sings It's a son of a gun of a chorus Where it all ends I can't fathom, my friends If I knew, I might toss out my anchor So I'll cruise along always searchin' for songs Not a lawyer, a thief or a banker But a son of a son, son of a son, son of a son of a sailor Son of a gun, load the last ton One step ahead of the jailer Jimmy Buffet, Son of a Son of Sailor
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