Was up with the dawning and down to the stage,
And haul on your oil clothes each morn;
Put your nine-foot oars across her
And leave the land behind,
Head her out through the fog on the scend.
And 'twas haul all day in the cross handed way,
And hope that the dogfish wouldn't run;
Curse the old black punt
Just to keep your spirits high,
Keep your eye to the westward for the squall.
Now, the cross-handed set was the Paradise way,
It was slow, but the man was on his own;
And you owed no man a penny,
Bought your 'baccy with cod oil,
And your pride was in the strength of your arm.
As the years they passed by
There were three daughters born,
With no sign of a boy coming on;
But your woman didn't worry,
She was young and fair and strong,
And she smiled from her garden on the hill.
Then with two boys born and coming into their own,
All your comrades went chasing a dream;
And ya died never knowing of
The wealth that you have done,
For it's only now it started to be seen.
And 'twas haul all day in the cross handed way,
And hope that the dogfish wouldn't run;
Curse the old black punt
Just to keep your spirits high,
Keep your eye to the westward for the squall.