- Isle au Haut
Where the fishing’s always easy they’ve got no ice or snow.And I’ll haul down the sail where the bays come together
Bide away my days on the hills of Isle au Haut.
Now the Plymouth girls are fine they put their hearts in your hand
And the Plymouth boys are able, first-class sailors every man.
Now, the trouble with old Martin you don’t try her in a trawler
For those Bay of Biscay swells, they roll your head from off your shoulder.
Now the winters drive you crazy and the fishing’s hard and slow
You’re a damned fool if you stay, but there’s no better place to go.
Away and to the westward is a place a man should go
Where the fishing’s always easy, they’ve got no ice or snow.