| As I roved by the dockside one evening so fair
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| To view the salt waters and take in the salt air
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| I heard an old fisherman singing a song
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| Oh, take me away boys me time is not long
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| Wrap me up in me oilskin and blankets
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| No more on the docks I’ll be seen
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| Just tell me old shipmates, I’m taking a trip mates
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| And I’ll see you someday on Fiddlers Green
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| Now Fiddler’s Green is a place I’ve heard tell
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| Where the fishermen go if they don’t go to hell
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| Where the weather is fair and the dolphins do play
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| And the cold coast of Greenland is far, far away
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| Now when you’re in dock and the long trip is through
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| There’s pubs and there’s clubs and there’s lassies there too
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| And the girls are all pretty and the beer is all free
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| And there’s bottles of rum growing on every tree
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| Where the skies are all clear and there’s never a gail
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| And the fish jump on board with one swish on their tail
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| Where you lie at your leisure, there’s no work to do
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| And the skipper’s below making tea for the crew
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| Now I don’t want a harp nor a halo, not me
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| Just give me a breeze and a good rolling sea
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| I’ll play me old squeeze-box as we sail along
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| With the wind in the riggin to sing me a song |