Come all you jolly fellows and listen to my song
It's all about the shanty boys and how they get along
We're the jolliest bunch of fellows that ever you could find
The way we spend our winter months is hurling down the pine.
At four o'clock each morning the boss begins to shout
"Heave out, my jolly teamsters, it's time to start the route."
The teamsters they will all jump up in a most fretful way
"Where is me boots? Where is me pants? Me socks is gone astray!"
At six o'clock it's breakfast, and every man is out
For every man who is not sick will sure be on the route
There's sawyers and there's choppers to lay the timber low
There's swampers and there's loggers to drag it to and fro.
And then comes up the logger, all at the break of day
"Load up my slide, five hundred feet; to the river drive away."
You can hear those axes ringing until the sun goes down
"Hurrah, my boys! The day is spent. To the shanty we are bound."
And when we reach the shanty, with cold hands and wet feet
We there pull off our larrigans, our supper for to eat.
We sing and dance till nine o'clock, then to our bunks we climb
Those winter months they won't be long in hurling down the pine.
The springtime rolls around at last, and then the boss will say
"Heave down your saws and axes, boys, and help to clear away."
And when the floating ice goes out, in business we will thrive
Two hundred able-bodied men are wanted on the drive.
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