Her ke- e -el, slips gently onward and over.
The curve of her bow, oh, the swells now she’ll look after.
Fashioned by hands, that have made more like her,
Oh you noble boat, rolling, making for the harbour!
She’s made from wood, but she’s no ordinary boat sir.
Cut in the fall, seasoned til mid winter is over.
See her high round bow, and she’s all tuck-ed under.
And from stem to stern, she’s our Newfoundland’s wonder.
I hear her one lunger pumping, and I look to see her,
Disappear, under the crest of a swell between us!
And she rises like a warrior, driving the lops asunder.
A legacy to men, who-o-o la-a-y down under.
Where only men, whose days be numbered.
We owe our lives, to the gifts from the water!
And for boats that go, come back some never.
But for all the boats that go, they are Newfoundland’s wonder.
For all the boats that go, they are Newfoundland’s wonder!
