Pirates o’ Newfoundland

More about Pirates o’ Newfoundland

Whaddya at, me ol’ cock, down by da stage,
Wind from da nor’east an’ spray on da cage.
We hauled up da trawl where da black waters roll,
Salt in da whiskers an’ rum in da soul.

Oi, b’y, haul away, stamp yer boot hard,
From Twillingate harbour to da merchant’s yard.
We got cod in da flakes an’ a gull on da spar,
An’ da moon hangin’ crooked like a fisherman’s star.

“Best kind!” cries Skipper, “don’t mind da gale!”
While da sea knocks da paint from da side o’ da sail.
Tickle by tickle an’ cove by cove,
We chases da silver fish, what we loves.

No king nor banker can tell us our way,
We follows da fog an’ da break o’ da day.
Oi, b’y, sing loud where da cold breakers run—
Pirates o’ Newfoundland, under da sun!