A fisher boy was leaving and going to Labrador,
Fishing the same old trap berth where his father fished before,
And as he was leaving his Mother, while standing on the quay,
He threw his arms around her neck and this to her did say.
"Don't vote Confederation, and that's my prayer to you.
We own the house we live in, likewise the schooner too.
But if ye heed Joe Smallwood's Canadian patois,
Ye'll always be paying taxes to that tribe up in Ottawa.
But if ye heed my warning, when we come sailing home,
We'll be loaded to the scuppers and I'll have no need to roam,
I'll buy a new accordion and we will dance all night
And the man who mentions Canada, he sure will have a fight!
Oh Mother, dearest Mother, God guard our fishing room.
It is the best one on the coast from Hebron to Quirpon.
But if Confederation should win on polling day,
The ghost of Uncle George will rise and this to you will say.
So Mother, dearest Mother, don't let them win you over.
On polling day just mark your X for good old Terra Nova.
Tell Sarah Jane, fish or no fish, I'll wed her in the Fall,
And Joey's Baby Bonus interests me not at all.
Our life has not been easy and our fight was hard and long.
But if we have faith in ourselves, we'll carry right along.
We want no strangers in our crew, let us be on our way,
and mark your X Reponsible on Referendum Day.
Now Mother, dearest Mother, we are Newfoundlanders true.
Our ship is sound from stem to stern and we can get the crew.
So keep the old flag flying, and keep her off the land.
As loved our Fathers so we love, God Guard Thee Newfoundland.