Print This Page#00786 Print This Page
On the shores of Labrador,
Where the wind blows high and strong;
There's a little fishing village,
Where time hurries quietly on.
The people came here long ago,
To give the place it's name;
Black Tickle, you are rocks and bog,
But we love you just the same.
The winter nights they are so long,
There is no place to go;
The dogs run o'er the frozen ground,
Seeking shelter from the snow.
When fishing time rolls 'round again,
The snow then blows no more;
As the men they fish the waters,
From the shores of Labrador.
In the village there's a house and school,
On the floor's a welcome mat;
It's run by two fine teachers,
Their names are Jack and Pat.
Their old hometown they left behind,
They long for it no more;
They've come to live with the people,
On the shores of Labrador.
The winter nights they are so long,
There is no place to go;
The dogs run o'er the frozen ground,
Seeking shelter from the snow.
When fishing time rolls 'round again,
The snow then blows no more;
As the men they fish the waters,
From the shores of Labrador.
