From Mortlake to Mosman for thirty-five years
In a twenty-six footer I’ve sailed,
It paid for me grub and a couple of beers
But not now since the fishing has failed.
There used to be Blackfish there used to be Bream
And there used to be Jewies to tame.
But now there’s old beer cans and polythene bags
And things too repulsive to name.
But the sun is still shining and the sky is still blue
You can still taste the salt on the spray
Me lines are all baited and me net’s over too
But there’s not many fish in the harbour today.
Once the catches you’d get nearly made your boat sink
And the three of you filling the barge
But now all you get is terrible stink,
With typhoid at no extra charge.
What you need is a craft that can sail the high seas
Where the Herring and King Fishes play,
All you bring up in the Harbour is dead dogs and cats.
Not to mention that Mrs MacRae.
So go for a sail with your Sally and Sue,
Take Roger and Rufous as well,
Remember to throw (chuck) your muck over the side,
Then complain of the hideous smell.
Well a fisherman’s known for not getting upset
When he sails through the wind and the rain.
But a man can but think when he’s sailing through this
What a pity you can’t pull the chain.