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He sits on the wharf in the warm summer sun,
He wonders if the boys got the trap work all done;
Too old to fish, but too young not to care,
He takes a deep breath of the saltwater air,
And the memories flood back to yesterday's fisherman.
He'd be at his oars with the crack of the dawn,
The splash on the gunnels has been his life song;
He worked like a dog to raise up his sons,
And now he would wait for them to come home,
'Cause there's not much to do for yesterday's fisherman.
So roll with the swell, boys, and do it with pride,
Your life is the sea with it's wind and it's tide;
And when you grow old and your fishing is done,
Sit back, be proud, and wait for your sons
To come home from their fishing.
The gulls in the harbour let out their harsh cry,
And the sun slowly climbs in an ever-blue sky;
The sounds and the sights haven't changed much with time,
His body is old, but young is his mind,
And memories are clear to yesterday's fisherman.
So roll with the swell, boys, and do it with pride,
Your life is the sea with it's wind and it's tide;
And when you grow old and your fishing is done,
Sit back, be proud, and wait for your sons
To come home from their fishing.
