Oh, some are fond of red wine and some are fond of white,
And some are all for dancing by the pale moonlight:
But rum alone’s the tipple, and the heart’s delight
  Of the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.

 ... 

Oh, some are for the lily and some are for the rose,
But I am for the sugar cane that in Jamaica grows;
For it’s that that makes the bonny drink to warm my copper nose,
  Says the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.

 ... 

Oh, some are sad and wretched folk that go in silken suits,
And there’s a mort of wicked rogues that live in good reputes;
So I’m for drinking honestly and dying in my boots,
  Like an old bold mate of Henry Morgan.