Early in the spring when the snow is all gone,
The Penobscot boys are anxious their moneey for to earn;
they will fit out a fisherman, one hundred tons or nigh,
For the Grand Banks of Newfoundland their luck for to try.

Sailing down the river, the weather being fine,
Our homes and our friends we leave far behind;
We pass by Sable Island, as we've oft done before,
Where the waves dash tremendous on a storm-beaten shore,

Now the vessel is our quarters, the ocean is our home,
And islands, capes and headlands we leave far astern
We run to the eastward for three or four days,
Then round and "sound" upon the western edge

The we run for the shoals and we run for the rocks,
Where the hagduls and Careys, they surround us in flocks;
We let go our best anchor, where the seas run so high,
On the Grand Banks of Newfoundland, the snapeyes for to try.

Early in the morn at the dawn of the day,
We jump into our dories, and saw, saw, away;
The snapeyes steal our bait, and we rip and we rave,
If ever we get home again, we'll give up the trade.

In this way we pass the summer, through dread and through fear
In fog mulls and gales of wind and big ships passing near;
The sometimes run the schooners down and sink them in the deep
The thoughts of such scenery is horrid to repeat.

Now the salt is all wet, but one half a pen,
The colors we will show and the mainsail we bend
Wash her down and scrub the decks, the dories we will stow,
Then heave up the anchor! To the Westward we go!