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The fisherman are pitching pennies in the sand beside the sea |
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And the sunrise hits their oilskin boots, their painted boats and me |
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And they seem to know the ocean like a man knows a woman |
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She makes him wait around for half the morning for the tide to turn |
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Pull on the ropes, seine haul fisherman |
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Never catches more than he knows he can sell in a day |
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Pull in the nets, seine haul fisherman |
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Day's for work, night's the time to go dancing |
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They're drinking beer and laughing and squinting at the sun |
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Waiting for the gulls to tell them when the fish will come |
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Their faces brown and weathered from all the nets they've run |
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They've learned to wait, they always know that the tide will turn |
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Pull on the ropes, seine haul fisherman |
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Never catches more than he knows he can sell in a day |
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Pull in the nets, seine haul fisherman |
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Day's for work, night's the time to go dancing |
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Now way out on the ocean the big ships hunt for whales |
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And the Japanese have caught so many now they hunt for snails |
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But my fisherman's not greedy he seems content to live |
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With the sun and the sand and a net full of fishes when the tide turns |
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Pull on the ropes, seine haul fisherman |
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Never catches more than he knows he can sell in a day |
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Pull in the nets, seine haul fisherman |
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Day's for work, night's the time to go dancing |
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Oh, yes pull on the ropes, seine haul fisherman |
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Never catches more than he knows he can sell in a day |
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Oh, and pull in the nets, seine haul fisherman |
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Day's for work, night's the time to go dancing |
