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We've got everything packed from tobacco to dishes,
Rubber boot patches and twine for the trawls;
We're Labrador bound, boys, we're gone for the summer,
You won't see our faces till late in the fall.
And that's the way that it was the old man sits dreaming,
Untouched by the progress just outside the door;
There's a smile on his old face when summer comes calling,
His mind takes him back to the Labrador shores.
It's a beautiful day in the year forty-seven,
The spray from the bow touched the smile on his face;
She's a wonderful sound, boys, that old cooker engine,
As her sound echoes back off the cliffs in the bay.
She's down to the gunnels, he stands at the tiller,
He guides her so gently through the rocks up ahead;
Where the flakes are all covered with salt fish a-drying,
To the bark of his old dog and the call of his kids.
And that's the way that it was the old man sits dreaming,
Untouched by the progress just outside the door;
There's a smile on his old face when summer comes calling,
His mind takes him back to the Labrador shores.
And that's the way that it was the old man sat dreaming....
Turn down the TV your grandfather's dreaming,
I know where he's at by his smile that's for sure;
He's a long ways away a young man in summer,
Fishing for cod on the Labrador shore.
And that's the way that it was the old man sits dreaming,
Untouched by the progress just outside the door;
There's a smile on his old face when summer comes calling,
His mind takes him back to the Labrador shores.
And that's the way that it was the old man sat dreaming....
From the Dictionary Of Newfoundland English:
Flake - A platform built on poles and spread with boughs for drying cod-fish on the foreshore.
