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There's gold in the channel when the sun lights the sea,
But the boats are all pulled up and stranded like me;
I once was a fisherman, now come ashore,
'Cause they won't let us go to sea anymore.
To the sea anymore,
No, they won't let us go to sea anymore.
In the old town of Hastings the people can see,
Our sheds and our tackle - it puts them at ease;
And we make a fine sight from above Rock-A-Nore,
But they won't let us go to sea anymore.
To the sea anymore,
No, they won't let us go to sea anymore.
And isn't it crazy, when we are so strong,
That we can't fight the bullies that are doing us wrong;
But you can't fight the faceless, the ghosts of the law,
And they won't let us go to sea anymore.
To the sea anymore,
No, they won't let us go to sea anymore.
Now I have a son and he's nearly sixteen,
A fishing family we always have been;
And it fills me with sorrow that he'll stay ashore,
'Cause they won't let us go to sea anymore.
To the sea anymore,
No, they won't let us go to sea anymore.
There's gold in the channel when the sun lights the sea,
But the boats are all pulled up and stranded like me;
I once was a fisherman, now come ashore,
Cause they won't let us go to sea anymore.
Recorded by Barry Dransfield (Be Your Own Man ©1994, Rhiannon Music).
