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THEY CALL ME A WRY MAN
Ged Blackmore

They call me a wry man that kicks 'gainst the goad,
But I'm just a wise man that's tired of his load.
I sowed in the ocean, took fish from the sea,
Bringing gentlemen riches and me - poverty!

When a million rivers were running
And the days were cold as the dead,
I hauled till my arms were burning
And trawled till my fingers had bled,
Trawled till my fingers had bled.

I went to the sea as a young man,
No time for learnin' in school.
Now I'm a master at fishin',
A learned and sea-wisened fool,
A learned and sea-wisened fool.

Load up the ship. Make ready the trip.
We're off to the Indies and sun.
Just think what you've made
In such a fair trade -
Cheap fish in exchange for cheap rum.

Ice for miles and swarms of swiles
As far as the eye can see.
Dance on the floes and laugh at the snows
'Tis rich in a month you'll be.
'Tis rich in a month you'll be.
Come to the ice and you'll see.

They call me a wry man that kicks 'gainst the goad,
But I'm just a wise man that's tired of his load.
I sowed in the ocean, took fish from the sea,
Bringing gentlemen riches and me - poverty!


[On Ged Blackmore's album "Folk of the Sea."]