FACE LIKE DEATH With a face like death on the way from hell, in a pair of socks i got from jesus, a belly full o beer, from satan dear who dons, a smile he wears to tease us, I been so high, I been so low and, All I beens around so, strap me down upon a barstool rack up another round for Chorus: Come, ye bold sea-farin’ lads There’s fortune to be made In the trawling trade Back to the midnight landings, back to the fish salt smell Back to the frozen winds that bite like the teeth of hell Back to the strangest game that ever a man has played Haul the stormy rollers back to the trawlin’ trade Chorus Doon wi yer nets and teckle, doon wi yer nets and gear Wait for the winches winding, wait fort he deckie’s cheer Up wi the shining harvest, glittering silver spray Down to the decks below to pay fort he trawlin’ trade Chorus Home wi the harvest wind and back to the Humber tide Down to the waters’s edge and jump to the waterside Roll with a rolling bunch of fishermen newly paid Down to the dockside pubs to trink to the trawlin’ trade Chorus