The fisher lads were heroes and the herrin was their creed
The herrin paid the factor, the herrin fed the wean
But now the herrin's gone and the fishin's no the same
The likes o' me was put tae the sea as soon as I could stand
To catch the silver darlin's for the folk upon the land
Wi half a mile o' net between the bottom and the keel
An' half a score o' years between the cradle and the creel
And I mind the rigs o' barley, I mind the rigs o' rye
I mind the riggin on the mast so dark against the sky
But the lads that used tae work them a', they've gone for better pay
And the rigs that work the oil are a' the rigs ye'll see the day
So dinnae blame the fisher folk for takin tae the oil
For if ye didnae find the fish, ye've nothing for yer toil
And there's still as many families, as many mouths tae feed
Between the beggar's mantle and the lights o' Peterheid