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GEST Songs Of Newfoundland And Labrador
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Fishermen are easy to love but they're slimy to hold,
They'd rather catch codfish than go dig for silver and gold;
With their clothes full of gurry, squid juice in their eye,
And their faces as black as the coal,
They long to go fishin' but they're just not allowed,
They're head over heels in the hole.
So, mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be fishermen,
They'd rather pick gill nets and cod from a trawl,
Than go to the mainland at all;
Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be fishermen,
'Cause you won't understand them at the end of the day,
And when they're older they'll just drift away.
Now the codfish are gone from the Banks,
There's ne'er one at all;
And the mackerel that teemed on our shore,
They don't come in the fall.
There's no capelin to roll on the beaches,
Not a codfish to catch on a trawl;
And I'm sure with the way things are going,
There won't be a crab left to crawl.
So, mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be fishermen,
They'd rather pick gill nets and cod from a trawl,
Than go to the mainland at all;
Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be fishermen,
'Cause you won't understand them at the end of the day,
And when they're older they'll just drift away.
Now the way that we live is enough to drive a man mad,
With no fish to catch, if we gets our stamps we'll be glad;
When you live on an island you suffer the hardship and cold,
And you know that you'd rather be fishin' than sittin' at home on the dole.
So, mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be fishermen,
They'd rather pick gill nets and cod from a trawl,
Than go to the mainland at all;
Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be fishermen,
'Cause you won't understand them at the end of the day,
And when they're older they'll just drift away.