Song of the Fishgutters

Come a' ye fisher lassies, ay, it's come awa' wi' me Fae Cairnbulg and Gamrie and fae Inverallochie Fae Buckie and fae Aberdeen an' a' the country roond We're awa' tae gut the herrin', we're awa' tae Yarmouth Toon Rise up in the morning wi' your bundles in your hand Be at the station early or you'll surely hae to stand Tak' plenty to eat and a kettle for your tea Or you'll mebbe die of hunger on the wa' to Yarmouth quay The journey it's a lang yen and it tak's a day or twa And when you reach your lodgin's sure it's soond asleep you fall But ye rise at five wi' the sleep still in your e'e You're awa' tae find the gutting yards alang the Yarmouth quay It's early in the morning and it's late into the nicht Your hands a' cut and chappit and they look an unco' sicht And you greet like a wean when you put them in the bree And you wish you were a thoosand mile awa' frae Yarmouth quay There's coopers there and curers there and buyers, canny chiels And lassies at the pickling and others at the creels And you'll wish the fish had been a' left in the sea By the time you finish gutting herring on the Yarmouth quay We've gutted fish in Lerwick and in Stornoway and Shields Warked along the Humber 'mongst the barrels and the creels Whitby, Grimsby, we've traivelled up and doon But the place to see the herrin' is the quay at Yarmouth Toon