The Great Fish Fingering Disaster

Come all you merry fishermen that sail upon the sea
And listen to this story I'm about to tell to thee
Concerning the bold fishermen that sail the sea so wet
A-hunting for fish fing-i-ers with a harpoon and a net.
Nyaaa...

'Twas in the year of '64 or was it '63
That we set sail from Solihull, bound for Amerikee
The seas they were a rage-i-ing, the waves a terrible height
It took us forty days, me boys, to reach the Isle of Wight.
Nyaaa...

Our captain's name was Gladys; he wore a dress of red
Perhaps that was the reason why he was not marr-i-ed
He was a gay old sea bitch and it was his favourite joy
To take a turn around the deck with the handsome boy.
Nyaaa...

Two hundred miles off Iceland, a mighty shoal we spied
MacFisheries fish fing-i-ers a floating against the tide
We set off in our longboats, but then our luck we cursed
Alas, we were to late: the chinese take away got there first.
Nyaaa...

Them slant eyed heathen came at we- they was a dreadful crew
A-brandishing transist-i-ors and giving it the old kung fu
We sang them a sea shant-i-ee, but they did not want to know
Their skipper felled our midden mast with one karate blow
Hai Ya!!

We set sail for old Eng-e-land, took twelve month and a day
It would have been much quicker but we went the pretty way
No more we'll go fish fingering on frozen Arctic shores
Next year we'll hunt beef burg-i-ers on the plains of Ilkley Moor.
Nyaaa...