Newfie

Lyrics

I walked into the kitchen, the kettle on the boil Old skipper by the woodstove, a hard day at the soil I told him I was leaving, heading out the door To try my luck and find some work upon a distant shore He looked up through the steam, and shook his heavy head He spat into the woodbox, and this is what he said: "Lord tundern dyins, me son, where are ya trying to go? The caplin are a-rolling and the hills are white with snow! You'll miss the salt sea breezes and the codfish in the pan, Yes my dear, there's no place like the rock of NL!" Well, I packed my rig and headed up across the Gulf line The mainland was a bustling place, and everything seemed fine But the folks they spoke so funny, and the air it didn't taste right No screech to drink, no jigs to dance on a Saturday night I called the old man on the phone, I said "I'm coming back" I'm throwing all my working boots right back into the pack. He said, "Lord tundern dyins, me son, I knew that you'd see sense! The grass ain't any greener on the other side of the fence! The boys are at the jigging, we’ll be waiting on the strand, Yes my dear, there's no place like the rock of NL!" So pack your bags and come on home, across the stormy foam Lord tundern dyins, me son, you're never on your own! Yes my dear, we're home to stay... Long may your big jib draw!