(Brian McNeill / Dougie Pincock)
Between the beggar's mantle and the lights o Peterhead
The fisher lads were heroes and the herring was the creed
The herring paid the factor, the herring fed the weans
But now the herring's gone and the fishing's no the same
The likes o me was put to sea as soon as I could stand
Tae catch the silver darlin's for the folk upon the land
With half a mile o net between the bottom and the keel
And half a score o years between the cradle and the creel
And amang the rigs o barley, amang the rigs o rye
Amang the rigging o the masts all dark against the sky
But the lads that used to work them all, they've gone for better pay
And the rigs that work the oil are all the rigs you'll see the day
So dinna blame the fisher folk for taking tae the oil
For if they couldna find the fish, they'd nothing for their toil
And there's still as many families and as many mouths to feed
Between the beggar's mantle and the lights o Peterhead
(as sung by The Battlefield Band)