The Rum Runner’s Song is from the days of prohibition when Canadian’s were running liquor down to the dry states in the US.

In its finished form, the song is a collaboration between the writer of the song, the late jack Fleetwood, and a musician, the late George Halkyard.

The two met as apart of the Cowichan Folk Guild’s folk music scene in the Cowichan Valley. Jack wrote the poem (still titled “Song”) back in 1931 and George recorded it with his music with Full Circle, the folk group he was playing with.

 

This is Full Circle’s recording of The Rum Runner’s Song which differs somewhat from Jack’s original lyrics which are given below. But hey! What’s a bit of artistic license…

LYRICS:

1.      Hey! Down on the dock boys the schooner pulls in,
Her holds are all ready for whiskey and gin;
Hey! Come all you strong men with shoulders of steel
And dance in a line to The Barley Corn Reel.

Chorus:
For some there’s a fortune but others will die,
Come load up the ship, boys, the Yankees are dry.

2.      Hey! What’s in the cases stacked tier upon tier?
Why, rye and scotch whiskey and gin but no beer;
And where is it bound for? Why, Washington State,
Where the tipplers’ throats parch, so they hardly can wait.

3.      There are thousands of bottles of U.D.L.’s best
The rye that’s the cheapest and Choice of the West;
There’s Dewar’s and Haig’s and Sandy McNish,
To tickle the palate or lure a lush dish.

4.      So it’s up with the anchor and let us away,
With our load of good whiskey from Cowichan Bay,
And it’s out to the Gulf and south to the Sound,
And watch for the Revenue Boats coming round.

5.      We meet the small gas-boats in the gloom of the night,
Unloading the cases we hope there’s no fight,
With Revenue Men who will dart from the Isles,
Or lure the unwary with cunning and wiles.

6.      Then drink to the Volstead, oh, long may it last,
And drink to the small boats, oh, may they be fast,
To outrun the Coast Guards and land the good liquor,
At beaches where signal is just a lamp’s flicker.

7.      We’re paid off in greenbacks, good Federal notes,
Then we knock off a bottle to slack our parched throats,
This time we’ve been lucky and landed our load,
Maybe next time in Davey Jones’s Locker be stowed.