Four o clock in the morning,
A new day's beginning to clear,
The fishing boats dance in the dawning,
The "Ranger" pulls out from the pier,
Say goodbye to the ones we love,
Back on the shore,
Tanks full of diesel got ice in the hold,
We're ready once more.
And the tide runs hard to the black hole,
And the crew go below for a sleep,
We pick up the lads out on Mallagh,
We're bound where the ocean is deep,
It's seven long hours to the standing,
But the "Ranger's" well fit for the trip,
A couple of tows round the banks and we'll have,
Ninety boxes of fish in the ship.
I come from seafaring people,
I've worked the sea all my life,
Can mend, I can splice, I'm a skipper,
Put surgeons to shame with a knife,
It's all that I know and there's no other place,
That I'd rather be,
Then rolling around on the top of the waves,
The "Ranger" and me.