…………
Away unto the westward
There’s a place a man should go
Where the fishing’s always easy
And they’ve got no ice or snow
Chorus
But I’ll haul down the sails
Where the bays come together
Bide away the days
On the hills of Isle au Haut
…….
The Plymouth girls are fine
They put their hearts in your hand
And the Plymouth boys are able
First-class sailors every man
…….
And the trouble with old Martir
You can’t try her in a trawler
For those Bay of Biscay swells
They’d roll the head from off your shoulder
……..
The winters drive you crazy
And the fishing’s hard and slow
You’re a damn fool if you stay
But there’s no better place to go
……..
Away unto the westward
There’s a place a man should go
Where the fishing’s always easy
And they’ve got no ice or snow