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• Artiste: Gaelic Storm
• Titre: Weary Whaling Grounds
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Well, if I had the wings of a gull, my boys I'd spread them and fly home I'd leave old Greenland's icy grounds For of right whales there is none And the weather is rough, the winds do blow There's little comfort here I'd sooner be snug in a Deptford pub And drinking of strong beer And the wind does blow The waves, they crash and roll The wind does blow The waves, they crash and roll, they crash A man must be mad or want money bad To venture catching of the whales For we may be drowned when the fish turns around Or his head be smashed by his tail Well, the work seems grand to the young greenhand His heart is high as he goes In a very short burst he'll as soon hear a curse As the cry of, "There she blows!" And the wind does blow The waves, they crash and roll The wind does blow The waves, they crash and roll, they crash All hands on deck now, for god's sake Move briskly if you can Well, he stumbles on deck, so dizzy and sick For his life, he don't give a damn High overhead the great flukes spread The mate gives the whale the iron And soon, the blood in a purple flood From the spout-hole comes flying In the ice and snow When the whale fish blow In the green-gray sky Where the seagulls fly Well, these trials that we bear for the night, for the year Til the flying jib points for home We're supposed to toil to get bonus of the oil And an equal share of the bone But we go to the agent to settle for the trip And we find we've cause to repent We've slaved away for four years of our life And earned about three pounds and ten And the wind does blow The waves, they crash and roll The wind does blow The waves, they crash and roll, they crash and roll