Fiddler´s Green

As I walked by the dockside one evening so fair,
to view the salt water and take the sea air,
I heard an old fisherman singing a song:
Won´t you take me home boys, my time isn´t long.
/: Wrap me up in my oilskin and jumper,
no more on the docks I´ll be seen.
Just tell me old shipmates I´m taking a trip,
mates and I´ll see you some day in Fiddler´s Green.:/

Now Fiddler´s Green is a place I heard tell,
where fishermen go if they don´t go to hell.
Where the skies are all clear and the dolphins do play
and the cold coast of Greenland is far, far away.
Wrap me up...

When you get to the docks and the long trip is
through there´s pubs, there´s clubs and there´s lassies there, too.
Where the girls are all pretty and the beer it is free
and there´s bottles of rum growing from each tree.
Wrap me up...

Now I don´t want a harp nor a halo, not me,
just give me a breeze and a good rolling sea.
I´ll play me old squeeze-box as we sail along with
the wind in the rigging to sing me a song.
Wrap me up...

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