Empty maunds on the jetty-head,
Mackerel out in the bay,
Bait we've a'got, booat is a'flot
Down by the western kay :
Gether yer leads and yer lines, me son,
Gannets es falling, good signs, me son,
Drap what you'm bout, come along out
A'plummetting, mackerel plummetting.

Come little fish to a poor man's line,
Silvery streak from the main,
Quivering cord, got un aboard,
Out with yer line again,
Handle un keenly and cool, me son,
Wheel the boat round on the school, me son,
Hard up to port, never no sport
Like plummetting, mackerel plummetting.

Haul in yer lines and git away hom',
Shimmer of stars on the bay,
Kip for the pier, wend up yer gear,
Staw yer tackle away :
Git alongside with yer catch, me son,
Moor up, then hom' under thatch, me son,
Sup, and to bed, dreams in yer head
Of plummetting, mackerel plummetting.

from Frank Baron's
'Mevagissey Backalong'