You asked me to sing you a song; I'll do the best I
can
When a man goes on the dole, his troubles are just
began
It is the case of every man, in every port around
You first give in your statement, and then they'll
write it down
First they'll ask you "What's your name", and then ask
what you've got
A few old raggedy line of gear, and a couple of
lobster pots
To see what trouble a man has got, he has to tell them
so
Be careful b'ys, don't tell no lies when you goes on
the dole
Now the winter is over, and spring will soon be here
You see them with their fires all in, a tanning up
their gear
Painting up their motorboats, their dories too,
likewise
They're at it in the morning, before the sun do rise
The man who got the money, b'ys, you know he is all
right
He's got the best to eat and drink, tobacco in his
pipe
But the day will come for him to die, be laid down in
some hole
And then he'll be no better off than the poor man on
the dole
