Oh, Fiddlers' Green is a place I've heard tell

Where fishermen go if they dont go to Hell

Where the weather is fair and the dolphins do play

And the cold coast of Greenland is far far away

Where the sky's always blue and there's never a gale

Where the fish jump on board with a swish of their tails

Where you lie at your leisure, there's no work to do

And the skipper's below making tea for the crew

When you get back to dock and your long trip is through

There's pubs, and there's clubs, and there's lassies there, too

The girls are all pretty and the beer is all free

And there's bottles of rum growing on every tree

Well I don't want a harp nor a halo, not me

Just give me a breeze and a good rolling sea

And I'll play me old squeezebox as we sail along

With the wind in the rigging to sing me this song