Print

I’m sick of the weather up hereIt goes on and on my dearThe fish aren’t coming still they wait and wait untilwe put our anchor downwe steal a few hours in town my feet weren’t made for the seathey were made for running freefree don’t make much sense to me (2)to be stuck on a boated seait’s harder to have you herein the cannery so nearbaking bread and drinking wineall just to pass the timeand I see the ships end their (there)where my love lets down her hairbut, my dad works this all dayso it’s here, right here we’ll staystay, stay, Never going to Larsen Bay (4) From Letras Mania