Written as a lament for my friends among the fishermen of Windward on Carriacou Island

I go to town to buy a little rum
But the price am way too high.
I thinking it be tourist season;
That be the reason why.

"Where the rum?" Old Bald Guy axed me
When I get back to home.
I tell he it tourist season
Jack Iron needin' a bank loan.

I got no tourist dollars in my pocket.
I work a boat; most times catch some fish.
Can't pay no tourist prices
Cause I ain't no tourist rich.

Now that they shut down the smuggling man
It harder to get by.
They shut down my friend the smuggling man
And this village as good as dry.