As a dreamer of dreams and
a travelin' man,
I have chalked up many a mile.
Read dozens of books
about heroes and crooks,
and I've learned much from both of their styles.

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.

Now away in the near future,
southeast of Disorder,
you can shake the hand of the Mango Man as he greets you at the border.

And the lady she hails from Trinidad,
island of the spices;
Salt for you meat
and cinnamon sweet,
and the rum if 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 tide 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 searching for songs,
not a lawyer a thief or a banker.

.

But the... Son of a son, son of a son, son of a son of a Sailor.
The sea's in my veins; my tradition remains,
I'm just glad I don't live in a trailer.