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There's ten cents in my pocket, and no injuries to show,
The wife is eight months pregnant, I s'pose I'm not that slow;
The merchant didn't take it all, there's still a dime to go,
So head her down to Charlottetown, and row, boys, row.
Row, boys, row. Don't you row too slow,
There's wives and kids, and chickens and dogs, waiting in the cove!
Pushed up the coast of Labrador to get some fish to salt,
On a pile of planks from Milner's Cove driven by some cloth;
'Twas up at three in the morning to a feed of beans and bread,
And o'er side at four o'clock if you were caught in bed.
Row, boys, row. Don't you row too slow,
There's wives and kids, and chickens and dogs, waiting in the cove!
Now wait and bait, and trawl and haul in, all day long,
Pass the time with stories, voices joined in song;
Heaving, slaving endlessly till duckish brought the night,
Then guttin', splittin', up on deck to dim lantern light.
Row, boys, row. Don't you row too slow,
There's wives and kids, and chickens and dogs, waiting in the cove!
Now where's the men among you who wouldn't do the same,
For his family back in Newfoundland, the ones who took his name;
You slave and suffer night and day through rain and sleet and snow,
Before you'd see them hungry living off the dole.
Row, boys, row. Don't you row too slow,
There's wives and kids and chickens and dogs, waiting in the cove;
Row, boys, row. Don't you row too slow,
There's wives and kids, and chickens and dogs, waiting in the cove.
