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Down on the eastern coast, ruled by the ocean,
Fair weather, foul weather, everybody knows:
Just to stay afloat, come winter, spring or summer,
All hands say, "C'mon that's just the way it goes."
Pass around that battered six-string,
Plank 'er down, let the fiddle play;
Tired, but not complainin',
At the end of a Down East day.
Someone on an old banjo will get it all together,
A box with a single row, you got it in your bones;
Tried to change the old tunes, but you find it don't get better,
'Cause everybody knows, some things are carved in stone.
Pass around that battered six-string,
Plank 'er down, let the fiddle play;
Tired, but not complainin',
At the end of a Down East day.
Freezin' in the cold, holes in your sweater,
On a big city sidewalk, pennies to your name;
Diggin' lots of gold, oh, ya couldn't do much better,
You still got that home blood, eternal flame.
Pass around that battered six-string,
Plank 'er down, let the fiddle play;
Tired, but not complainin',
At the end of a Down East day.
Pass around that battered six-string,
Plank 'er down, let the fiddle play;
Tired, but not complainin',
At the end of a Down East day.
Recorded by the Fables (A Time, trk#1, 2000, Tidemark Distribution, Halifax, Nova Scotia).
