Well, the ropes are all tangled and tied
 The throb of red diesel it whines
 Past the still snoring town
 We elbow around
 For many’s the nights we will claim
 To drain all the salt from our veins

The captain, a round-headed man
 With drunken tattoos he commands
 In the wheelhouse he sits
 With both eyes transfixed
 For many’s the night he will claim
 To drain all the salt from our veins

Crunching blocks and grinding old gears
 As the winch draws, our signal is cleared
 Nets open wide, this purse is our prize
 A hundredweight falls from the chains
 As we drain all the salt from our veins

Four trawls a day we are set
 And only half of all caught now are kept
 Slick, slime and tails
 All bloodshot and pale
 For many’s the night we will pray
 We won’t drain all the salt from our veins