One day I thought I'd have some fun
And see how hookin' chokers was done,
Since Duncan Logging had began
I tackled a boss that night.
He said, "My chokerman's bit the dust,
His head is bashed in, and his legs are bust,
And though with luck, he'll live, I trust,
Of chokers he hates the sight."
We hit the river the very next week -
That Duncan country looked awfully bleak -
Of that I will not even speak,
It's just a great big bog.
The mosquitoes are huge and so are the fleas,
We only have rotten cedar for trees,
And every step, it's mud to the knees,
And that's where I learned how to log.
They dragged me from bed at about midnight,
Breakfast was only a sniff and a bite,
And then began a terrible fight,
A knock-down and drag-out deal.
I picked up a choker, 'twas sixteen feet long,
It tangled my legs and it gave me a bong,
The boss only said, "You're doin' it wrong,
But someday you'll get the feel."
I sure got the feel and soon enough, too -
My gloves were ripped off and my fingers chewed through,
My shins were all bruises and all that I knew
Was how to buckle a bell.
The logs were a mystery, how they could stay,
Well, I worked on the same one for most of the day,
When the boss came along, this was all he could say,
As he tore off his hat, "What the hell?!!"
I've worked in the bush and I've worked in the mines,
I've sat in jails a couple a times,
If again I hook chokers I've made up my mind,
To put one right around my head.
For setting chokers, you get no relief,
You only get hardships and all kinds of grief,
So here is my thesis, and you'll find it brief -
I think I would rather be dead!