My father was a fisherman, my mama was a fisherman's friend.
And I was born in the boredom and the chowder.
So when I reached my prime,
I left my home in the Maritimes.
And headed down the turnpike
For New England,
Sweet New England.

Holes in my confidence, holes in the knees of my jeans.
I was left without a penny in my pocket.
Oo-ee, I was about as destituted as any kid could be,
And I wished I wore a ring
So I could hock-it.
I'd like to hock-it.

The young girl in the parking lot, was preaching to a crowd.
Singing sacred songs and reading from The Bible.
Oh, I told her I was lost,
And she told me all about the Pentecost.
And I seen that girl as the road
To my survival.

Just later on that first same night,
When I crept to her tent with a flashlight.
And the long years of innocence ended.
Well she took me to the woods,
Saying here comes something, and it feels so good,
And just like a dog I was befriended,
I was befriended.

Oh oh, what a night, oh, what a garden of delight.
Even now that sweet memory lingers.
I was playing my guitar
Lying underneath the stars.
Just thanking The Lord
For my fingers,
For my fingers.