Hard Times in the Maritimes

Salt wind bitin' at my weathered hands Darkside shadows on the lonesome sand

Old boat creaks with every ebb and flow Liverpool mornings, nowhere else to

go I see the fog roll in over the hill Fishermen's laughter,

the factory still Nights run longer when the work runs out And I've got

stories and a voice to shout Hard times in the Maritimes Waves hit hard

but these roots are mine It may be hard times in the Maritimes

But the Maritimes are my home Whether I'm home or away I'm an East

Coaster all the way Twelve months of struggle for a week's good pay