Clovelly men are Herring men

Clovelly men are Herring men
They fish the briny bay,
Fill their nets with silver fish,
Each and every day.

From Michaelmas to Christmas,
The boats put out to sea,
From Harty Point to Rocks Nose,
And back to Clovelly.

Aboard the Picarooners,
With their nets across the tide,
Drift the ebb and flow boys,
They fish the coast with pride.

Fishermen after fishermen,
Have trod these harbour walls,
And watched for signs of weather,
So to answer the herrings call.

Shoot away the drift nets,
Watch the early light,
If we haven't found them,
We're back again tonight.

Haul away the headrope,
Bring the snood aboard,
Herrings fill our nets now,
It's to the shore we're bound.

Count out the fish upon the beach,
Three fish make a cast,
Forty cast a long hundred,
We'll catch a mease at last.

The days are long gone now,
When blue jersied men would stand,
And wait outside the Red Lion,
For the last boat out to land.

As long as I remember,
As long as I still fish,
There'll always be Clovelly herring,
To fill your sousing dish.