Now it's three long years since we made her pay,
(after each line):
Haul away, my laddie-o
And we can't get by on the subsidy.
Haul away, my laddie-o
So haul away for the final trawl,
It's an easy pull, for the catch is small
Now its stow your gear lads and batten down,
Then I'll take the wheel, lads, and turn her round.
And we'll join The Venture and The Morning Star,
Riding high and empty behind the bar.
For I'd rather beach her on the skerry rock, Than to see her torched on the breakers dock.
And when I die, you can stow me down,
In her rusty hold, where the breakers sound.
Then I'll make my haven the Fiddler's Green, Where the grub is good and the bunks are clean.
I fished a lifetime, boy and man,
And the final trawl scarcely nets a cran.