A pell with some fairly simple accompaniment. To some extent the song came out of reading the diaries of Thomas Thistlewood - or as much of them as I could stand.

I’d write to my love but my letters are fetters
I’d kiss my love but my lips are whips
I’d give my love my mother’s cross
But it’s burning all the way to the Christmas Steps

As for me, I’m a son of a gun
As for me, I’m the slavemaster’s son
I’m the one, the first in line
One day soon, all of this will be mine

My father was slave island bound
He hung slave island by the neck
I’d walk to my love but my footfalls sound
Like the captain strutting on the slave ship deck

As for me, I’m a son of a gun
As for me, I’m the slavemaster’s son
I dreamed my queen was wrapped in gold
When I woke up she’d been sold

I’d love to see my love reclining
Under England’s other skies
But the sea is cold and shining
As my father’s cancerous eyes

As for me, I’ve got a business to run
As for me, I’m the slavemaster’s son
His lies run through my veins
His lies have become my chains