Out along the harbour reach
Boats stand dried up on the beach
Ghost-like in the early dawn
Empty now the fish are gone
What will become of people now
Trying to build a life somehow
Hard hard times are back again
No more fish, no fishermen

No more shoppers in the stores
Since the fish plant closed its doors
Men who walked a trawler’s decks
Now line up for welfare cheques
There’s big “For sale” signs everywhere
Pockets empty, cupboards bare
See it on the news at ten
No more fish, no fishermen

Once from Ship Cove to Cape Race
Port-au-basques to Harbour Grace
Newfoundlanders fished for cod
Owing merchants trusting God
They filled their dories twice a day
They fished their poor sweet lives away
They could not imagine then
No more fish, no fishermen

Back before the second war
We could catch our fish inshore
Boats were small and gear was rough
We caught fish but left enough
And now there’s no more fish because
The trawler fleets took all there was
We could see it coming then
No more fish, no fishermen

Farewell now to stage and flake
Get out for the children’s sake
Leave all friends and kin behind
Take whatever job you find
There’s some that say things aren’t so black
They say the fish will all come back
Who’ll be here to catch them then
No more fish, no fishermen

From the Finest Kind website