Two Favourite Songs of Newfoundland

Home


Let Me Fish Off Cape St. Mary's

Quietly, with free expression

Take me back to my western boat,
Let me fish off Cape St. Mary's,
Where the hagdowns sail and the foghorns wail
With my friends the Browns and the Clearys
Let me fish off Cape St. Mary's.

Let me feel my dory lift
To the broad Atlantic combers,
Where the tide rips swirl and the wild ducks whirl
Where Old Neptune calls the numbers
'Neath the broad Atlantic combers....

Let me sail up Golden Bay
With my oilskins all a 'streamin'....
From the thunder squall - - when I hauled me trawl
And my old Cape Ann a gleamin'
With my oil skins all a 'streamin'....

Let me view that rugged shore,
Where the beach is all a-glisten
With the Caplin spawn where from dusk to dawn
You bait your trawl and listen
To the undertow a-hissin'.

When I reach that last big shoal
Where the ground swells break asunder,
Where the wild sands roll to the surges toll.
Let me be a man and take it
Where my dory fails to make it.

Take me back to that snug green cove
Where the seas roll up their thunder.
There let me rest in the earth's cool breast
Where the stars shine out their wonder - -
And the seas roll up their thunder.


Written by Otto P. Kelland


Squid-jiggin' Ground

Rather fast and rollicking

Oh this is the place where the fisherman gather,
In oil-skins and boots and Cape-Anns battened down;
All sizes of figures, with squid lines and jiggers,
They congregate here on the squid jiggin' ground.

Some are workin' their jiggers while others are yarnin',
There's some standin' up and there's more lyin' down;
While all kinds of fun, jokes and tricks are begun,
As they wait for the squid on the squid-jiggin' ground.

There's men of all ages and boys in the bargain,
There's old Billy Cave and there's young Raymond Bown,
There's a red rantin' Tory out here in a dory,
A-runnin' down Squires on the squid-jiggin' ground.

There's men from the harbour; there's men from the tickle
In all kinds of motorboats, green, gray and brown;
Right yonder is Bobby and with him is Nobby,
He's chawin' hard tack on the squid-jiggin' ground.

God bless my sou'wester, there's skipper John Chaffey,
He's the best hand at squid-jiggin here, I'll be bound,
Hello! what's the row? Why, he's jiggin' one now,
The very first squid on the squid-jiggin' ground.

The man with the whisker is old Jacob Steele,
He's gettin' well up but he's still pretty sound;
While uncle Bob Hawkins wears six pairs of stockin's
Whenever he's out on the Squid jiggin' ground.

Holy smoke! what a scuffle, all hands are excited,
'Tis a wonder to me that there's nobody drowned,
There's a bustle, confusion, a wonderful hustle,
They're all jiggin' squids on the squid-jiggin ground!

Says Bobby, "The squids are on top of the water,
I just got me jiggers about one fathom dowm";
But a squid in the boat squirted right down his throat,
And he's swearin' like mad on the squid-jiggin' ground.

There's poor uncle Billy, his whiskers are spattered
With spots of the squid juice that's flying around;
One poor little boy got it right in the eye,
But they don't give a darn on the squid-jiggin' ground.

Now if ever you feel inclined to go squiddin',
Leave your white shirts and collars behind in the town,
And if you get cranky, without yer silk hanky,
You'd better steer clear of the squid-jiggin' ground.


Written by A. R. Scammell


Privacy Policy of this website