As I walked by the dock-side 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 oliskin 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 all someday in Fiddlers Green.

Now Fiddlers Green is a place I heard tell

Where fisherman 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.

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 is free

And there's bottles of rum growing from each tree.

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 my old squeeze-box as we sail along

With the wind in the rigging to sing me a song.