I'm just a lowly fisherman.
Down on the Labrador.
If the draggers keep on coming.
We'll starve to death for sure.

You can see the lights from Belle isle.
To the bottom of Chateau Bay.
We know it's wrong to see it.
But the government say's "O.K".

At evening when it's foggy.
And the mist is rolling in.
The noise it is quite deafening.
You can hear the winches spin.

We can't do much about it.
No one listens to what we say.
But we know if it increases.
There'll be nothing but decay.

We get up every morning.
Drag our feet down to the stage.
There's not much to look forward to.
Since we're getting up in age.

We look out on the ocean.
Wonder what it's all about.
And if no one doesn't intercede.
We'll all be gone no doubt.

We get out on the fishing grounds.
We pawn and heave and rake.
We get nothing for our labours.
Cause there's nothing for to take.

We return to the shore disgusted.
We know there's something wrong.
The draggers were here again last night.
And the codfish have all gone.