You think I’m just a lowly boat hand

Working as I go

That I never live in the same place

For more than half a year or so

You think I disappear in winter

To avoid the holidays

And head off to that place down south

Where everybody plays

Chorus

But it’s my home     

Under the sky           

Like the honesty of the pupil in

The center of a dark blue eye

It’s my home

Gently lined in sand

A place to stretch my hammock

It’s my home

When I feel November’s clammy chill

I know it’s time to leave

South down island to where I work

Where I put out to sea

And when you wear your fine Italian clothes

Featured in some movie strip

You can thank me for the safe arrival

Of that cargo ship

Chorus

Cause it’s my home

Where the seabirds fly

The sand gets long and the shells get tall

With each passing of the tide

It’s my home

Surrounded by the sea

Soaking up the sunshine

It’s my home

There’re men of all persuasions

Living in the rig

There are some that last and some that pass

And some meant for the brig

Back up north in the great white lie

They struggle for a loan

And piss away each gentle day

Just to keep up with the Jones

Chorus

But it’s my home

Where flowers grow

Where it’s still OK to smile

At the people you don’t know

It’s my home

Where children play

Where the tourists come for a week

It’s my home