And he takes out his trumpet and sings:

MOLASSES
Words and Music by Tom Rowe

African Man cuts the sugar cane,
Oh Molasses
He works in the sun, he works in the rain.
Oh molasses rhum
Then he loads it up on a wooden ship,
Sends it off on a northern trip.
Oh molasses, oh molasses rhum.

        Oh molasses, Ole New England tea.
        You killed my Grampa, killed my Pa.
        And you sure as hell are a killin' me.
        Oh molasses, oh molasses rhum.

When they fought the war for the Colonies;
They fought it over New England tea.
Old King George put a tax on it,
The Colonies nearly took a fit.

In the time of the nineteen-seventeen war;
Molasses sitting on the Boston shore.
When they pumped it in it was twelve degrees,
A long cold night in a Boston freeze.

In the morning it was forty-two
Molasses vat split clean in two.
Two million gallons covered the bay
Twenty-six people drowned in the flood that day.

Grampa, he died cuttin' cane.
Pa went down in the great brown rain.
But I won't go in a pool of blood,
I won't drown in a blackstrap flood;
But still I'll go down to molasses, Oh molasses rhum.