I’m bound to go down to the old fishing ground, where I swear every year is my last.
Still, I’m here and I’m bent after 40 years spent, now the fate of my future is cast.
I remember the days it took booms and the stays to get the day’s catch in the hold.
Now we load them by hand and its little we land, as we stand in the ice and the cold.
I said in my time, I’d never more sign for another year’s stay on as crew.
But I’d look like some fool, if I went back to school, when there’s no work and nothing to do.
So I’m called the ol’ duffer and my time is near spent. My hands are all gnarled and sore.
Still I’d rather go out with a shove and a shout, than stand and wave from the shore.
There’s ol’ Mac McPhee and the skipper and me, as we head back to St. Mary’s Reach.
Like the boats on the quay we’re all rusting away, soon we all be keeled up on the beach.
I’m bound to go down to the old fishing ground where I swear every year is my last.
Still I’m here and I’m bent after 40 years spent, and the fate of my future is cast.
The fate of my future is cast…
-Doug Garrett