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Come all you good people and listen to my song,
It's about the poor people how they're gettin' along;
They fish in the spring, finish off in the fall,
And when it's all over they've nothin' at all.
And it's hard, hard times. Yes, it's hard, hard times.
Go out in the mornin' and the wind it do sing,
And it's over the side you will hear the line ring;
And out flows the jigger in the freeze and the cold,
Asking for starch and all gone in the hole.
And it's hard, hard times. Yes, it's hard, hard times.
Poor fishermen we've been out all of the day,
Come in in the evening, boats sail off the bay;
It's Kate in the corner with a wink and a nod,
Saying, "Jimmy and Johnny, have you got any cod?"
And it's hard, hard times.
Now you've got some splittin' hung out for to dry,
'Twill take all your time to brush off the flies;
To keep out the maggots is more than you do,
And the sun will come out and they're splittin' in two.
And it's hard, hard times. Yes, it's hard, hard times.
Then comes the merchant to see your supply,
The fine side of fishing you'll see by and by;
Seven dollars for large, six-fifty for small,
Then you pick out your West Indies and you've nothing at all.
Or the baker has loaves they get smaller each week,
And he's bad as your butcher who cuts off your meat;
And the scales they fly up and your weights they go down,
And he sings out the weight when it's shorter than a pound.
And it's hard, hard times. Yes, it's hard, hard times.
Next comes the carpenter to build you a house,
And he claims it's so snug you can scarce find a mouse;
There's holes in the roof where the rain it do pour,
And it's smoky in the chimney, and you open the door.
And the parson will tell you he will save your poor soul,
If you stick to his book, you can stay off the dole;
He'll give you his blessing and maybe a curse,
Put his hands in his pockets and walk off with your purse.
And it's hard, hard times. Yes, it's hard, hard times.
And next comes the doctor, the worst of them all,
Saying, "What's been the matter with you since the fall?"
He says he can cure you of all your disease,
When your money's all gone you can die if you please.
So the best you can do is to work for the world,
And when it's all over and you're hard on the hill;
You're hard on the hill, put down in the cold,
You're gettin' your grave, but you're still in the hole.
And it's hard, hard times. Yes, it's hard, hard times.
So, come all you good people and listen to my song,
It's about the poor people how they're gettin' along;
They fish in the spring, finish off in the fall,
And when it's all over and they've nothin' at all.
Go out in the mornin' and the wind it do sing,
And it's over the side you can hear the line ring;
Out flows the jigger with the freeze and the cold,
And they're asking for starch and all gone in the hole.
And it's hard, hard times. Yes, it's hard, hard times.
Yes, it's hard, hard times.
