Chorus:
Now we're rollin' down to Rio,
Buenos Aires or the Straits –
That's the way we traded from Fuego to the States!
Now we're rollin' down to Rio,
Buenos Aires or the Straits –
That's the way we traded from Fuego to the States!

Rollin' down to Rio on this rotten sailin' tramp;
Takin' water for'r'd an' now our bunks are damp;
Buckin' like a bronco since we left the Keys;
Listin' like a kettle as she ships the quart-er seas.

(Chorus)

Loaded to the gunnels, plowin' four knots an hour,
Steadied with her stays'l but swayin' like a flower;
Half a crew o' Cubans, with a pair o' Swedish mates,
That's the way we traded from Fuego to the States.

(Chorus)

Callin' at Jamaica for a scuttle-butt o' rum;
Carousin' at fiestas till we've spent our shippin' sum;
Stricken with the fever from the islands where it grew;
Fightin' for the rations with this lazy, drunken crew.

(Chorus)

Reelin' round the Indies, makin' port or makin' sail;
Beatin' up to windward in a ragin' tropic gale;
Losin' our deck cargo, shiftin' coal or shiftin' crates –
That's the way we traded from Fuego to the States.

(Chorus)

Droppin' down to Rio on a buckin' wooden tramp;
Takin' water for'r'd till her rotten planks were damp;
Pitchin' like a bronco from the time we left the Keys;
Listin' like a kettle when she took the quarter seas;
Loaded to the gunnels, making four knots an hour;
Steadied with her stays'l, but swaying like a flower;
Half a crew o' Cubans, an' a pair o' Swedish mates;
That's the way we traded from Fuego to the States.

Callin' at Jamaica for a scuttle-butt o' rum;
Lazin' at fiestas till we spent our shippin' sum;
Stricken with the fever, from the islands where it grew;
Fightin' for our rations in a lazy, drunken crew;
Reelin' round the Indies, makin' port or makin' sail;
Beatin' up to windward in a Carribean gale;
Dippin' down to Rio, Buenos Aires or the Straits –
That's the way we traded from Fuego to the States.