Here’s to the Grimsby lads out on the trawling
                    Here’s to the lads on the billowing deep
                    Shooting their nets with their heaving and hauling
                    All the night long, while the landsmen do sleep.

          They leave in the cold and the grey of the morning
          leaving their wives and their families behind.
          They’re following the fishes, fulfilling their wishes,
          Charts are all ready the shoals for to find.

                    Here’s to the Grimsby Lads ….

          They head away north where they know will be waiting
          Frost and black ice and the lash of a gale.
          They’re trawling and hoping and anticipating
          A ship home port full and safely to sail.

                    Here’s to the Grimsby Lads ….

          From Scotland’s grey shores to the cold coast of Iceland,
          White seas and the Faroes they’re marking their way.
          Through Dogger and Fortys and stormy Bear Island.
          Eighteen long hours is the fisherman’s day.

                   Here’s to the Grimsby Lads ….

          The nets are all in and the catch lies a-gleaming,
          There’s cutting and cleaning and gutting below.
          Thirteen more hours, and home we’ll be sailing
          With a ship home port-full and safely we’ll go.

                    Here’s to the Grimsby Lads ….