| As I walked by the dockside one evening so rare
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| To view the salt waters and take the salt air
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| I spied an old fisherman singing a song
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| «ah take me away boys me time is not long»
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| Wrap me up in me oilskins 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 some day in Fiddler’s Green
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| Now Fiddler’s Green is a place I hear tell
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| Where the fishermen go if they don’t go to hell
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| weather is fair and the dolphins do PLAY
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| And the cold coast of Finland is far, far away
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| Where the skies are all clear and there’s never a gale
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| And the fish jump on board with a swish of their tails
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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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| When you get back on dock and the journey’s through
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| There’s pubs and there’s clubs and there’s lassies there too
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| the girls are all pretty and the beer it is free
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| And there’s bottles of rum growing from every tree
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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 rigging to sing me a song
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| End |