| The fisherman are pitching pennies in the sand beside the sea
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| And the sunrise hits their oilskin boots, their painted boats and me
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| And they seem to know the ocean like a man knows a woman
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| She makes him wait around for half the morning for the tide to turn
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| Pull on the ropes, seine haul fisherman
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| Never catches more than he knows he can sell in a day
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| Pull in the nets, seine haul fisherman
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| Day’s for work, night’s the time to go dancing
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| They’re drinking beer and laughing and squinting at the sun
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| Waiting for the gulls to tell them when the fish will come
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| Their faces brown and weathered from all the nets they’ve run
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| They’ve learned to wait, they always know that the tide will turn
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| Pull on the ropes, seine haul fisherman
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| Never catches more than he knows he can sell in a day
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| Pull in the nets, seine haul fisherman
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| Day’s for work, night’s the time to go dancing
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| Now way out on the ocean the big ships hunt for whales
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| And the Japanese have caught so many now they hunt for snails
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| But my fisherman’s not greedy he seems content to live
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| With the sun and the sand and a net full of fishes when the tide turns
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| Pull on the ropes, seine haul fisherman
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| Never catches more than he knows he can sell in a day
|
| Pull in the nets, seine haul fisherman
|
| Day’s for work, night’s the time to go dancing
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| Oh, yes pull on the ropes, seine haul fisherman
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| Never catches more than he knows he can sell in a day
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| Oh, and pull in the nets, seine haul fisherman
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| Day’s for work, night’s the time to go dancing |