Lyrics

These are the original lyrics, directly from John Conolly:

As I roved by the dockside one evening so rare,
To view the still waters and take the salt air −
I heard an old fisherman, singing this song –
“Oh, take me away, boys, me time is not long”

CHORUS:
Dress me up in me oilskins and jumper −
No more on the docks I’ll be seen −
Just tell me old shipmates, I’m taking a trip, mates,
And I’ll see you someday, in Fiddlers’ Green …

Now, Fiddlers’ Green is a place, I’ve heard tell,
Where fishermen go if they don’t go to Hell −
Where the weather is fair, and the dolphins do play −
And the cold coast of Greenland is far, far away …

The sky’s always clear, and there’s never a gale −
And the fish jump on board with a flip of their tails −
You can lie at your leisure, there’s no work to do −
And the Skipper’s below, making tea for the crew …

And when you’re in dock, and the long trip is through −
There’s pubs and there’s clubs, and there’s lasses there too −
The girls are all pretty, the beer is all free −
And there’s bottles of rum, growing on every tree …

I don’t want a harp nor a halo, not me −
Just give me a breeze and a good rolling sea −
And I’ll play me old squeezebox as we sail along −
With the wind in the rigging, to sing me this song …

These are the lyrics as Bounding Main sings it, based on how the song is popularly performed at some American renaissance faires.  Some words have changed in the folk process, but others (jumpers) were deliberately changed to remove anachronisms for an Elizabethan-era event:

As I walked by the dockside one evening so rare,
To view the still waters and take the salt air
I spied an old sailor man singing this song:
“Oh take me away boys my time is not long.”

Chorus:
Wrap me up in my oilskins and blankets
No more on the docks I’ll be seen
Just tell my old shipmates I’m taking a trip, mates
I’ll see you someday on Fiddlers’ Green.

Now Fiddlers’ Green is a place I’ve heard tell,
Where fishermen go if they don’t go to hell.
Where the weather is fair and the dolphins do play,
And the cold coast of England is far far away. (Chorus)

Oh, Fiddlers’ Green where there’s never a gale,
Where the fish swim on board with a swish of their tail.
You lie at your leisure, there’s no work to do,
And the skipper’s below, making tea for the crew. (Chorus)

And when you’re in dock and the long trip is through,
There’s pubs and there’s grub and there’s lassies there too.
The girls are all pretty and the beer is all free,
And there’s bottles o’ rum growing on every tree. (Chorus)

Oh I don’t want a harp, nor a halo, not me,
Just give me a breeze and the good rollin’ sea,
I’ll play me old squeeze-box as we sail along,
With the wind in the riggin’, I’ll sing me this song. (Chorus)