© Pamela Morgan Publishing (a division of Amber Music)

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