As I walked by the dock-side one evening so fair,
To view the salt water an' take the sea-air.
I heard an old fisherman singin' a song,
Won't you take me away boys, my time isn't long.
Wrap me up in my oilskin and jumper,
No more on the docks I'll be seen.
Just tell me old shipmates,
I'm taking a trip mates,
An' I'll see you some day in Fiddler's Green.
Now Fiddler's Green is a place I heard tell,
Where fishermen go, if they don't go to hell.
Where the skies are all clear and the dolphins do play,
And the cold coast of Greenland is far, far away.
When you get to the docks and the long trip is through,
There's pubs, there's clubs and there's lassies there too.
Where the girls are all pretty and the beer it is free,
And there's bottles of rum growing from every tree.
Now I don't want a harp or a halo, not me,
Just give me a breeze and a good rollin' sea.
I'll play me old squeeze-box as we sail along,
With the wind in the rigging to sing me a song.