The Herring Gutter's Song

Come all ye fisher lassies, aye, come awa' wi' me Frae Cairnburgh and Gamrie and frae Inverallochy Frae Buckie and frae Aberdeen and a' the country roond We're awa' tae gut the herring, we're awa' tae Yarmouth toon Ye'll leave in the morning wi' a suitcase in yer hand Be early at the station or ye'll surely hae tae stand Take plenty tae eat and a kettle for yer tea Or ye'll like tae die a hunger on the way tae Yarmouth toon Noo, the journey it's a langin', it takes a day or twa But when ye reach yer lodgings it's soon tae sleep ye'll fa' But ye rise at five, with the sleep still in yer e'e Ye're awa' tae find the herring sheds alang the Yarmouth quay Frae early in the morning, tae late intae the naecht, Yer hands are guttin' herring and they're looking awful saecht And ye cry like a wheel when ye put them in the bree And ye wish ye were a thoosand miles awa' frae Yarmouth quay Noo, there's coopers there and kervers there, buyers, canny chields Lassies at the picklin' and there's others at the creels Ye wish the fish had been all left in the sea By the time ye finish guttin' herring at the Yarmouth quay I've gutted fish in Lerwick, in Stornoway and Shields I've worked alang the Humber 'midst the barrels and the creels Whitby, Grimsby, I've worked the country roond But the place tae find the herring is the quay at Yarmouth toon.