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Our Singing Country |
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About twelve in the morn the cook would sing out, "All hands for the cook shack. Come, bullies, turn out." And when you get there divil a bit do you see But the dirty old cook and his lousy cookie. Lovely fa-de-little-aro, sing tooral all day.
Sunday afternoon the boss, he would say, "Your axes to grind, for there's no time to play, For next Monday morning, to the woods you must go, And forty-five spruce every day you must throw." Lovely fa-de-little-aro, sing tooral all day.
About six in the evening to the camps we'd all steer, "Sideboard the grindstone," was all you could hear, "Sideboard the grindstone," for the turns they'd all fight, And keep the damned old grindstone a-furling all night." Lovely fa-de-little-aro, sing tooral all day. |
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JOHNNY STILES, OR THE WILD MUSTARD RIVER
</. No. 2353. Archie Stice, Newberry, Mich., 1938. See Ga.2, p. 276.
uThey asked me if I was cold when they fulled me out of the ice in the river. Well/ I saidy iI ainyt a damn bit sweaty? " |
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"See that deef hollow flace between his eyes? Well} that was made when a tree fell and finned his head against a stumf. The doctor gave him one and a half hours to live, but you canyt kill a lumberjack" |
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