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No Mexico here, no gold can I see
Nothing to trade with an Indian Chief.
Malaria, starvation, Jamestown sure to die,
We need a product to keep us alive.
“John Rolfe, tell England of your days on the Caribbean Sea,
Those Islands, have they any yield to offer me?”
“Tobacco!” That’s a memory I have of the Jamaican stop.
I’ll bring it to Virginia and cultivate a cash crop.
In 1612, England was made content,
Finally a return on her New World investment--
“And what for me,” implored John Rolfe,
The genius behind all this stuff.
“We’ll pulverize it, chop it up
And for you we’ll call it snuff.” |