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