An’ we maun follow wi’ the lave,
Grim death he heucks us a’;
But we’ll hae anither fishing bout
Afore we’re ta’en awa’.
For we are hale and hearty baith,
Tho’ frosty are our pows,
We still can guide our fishing graith,
And climb the dykes and knowes;
We’ll mount our creels and grip our gads,
An’ throw a sweeping line,