Oh, a shanty-man's life is a wearisome life, although some think it void of care Swinging an ax from morning till night in the midst of the forests so drear. Lying in the shanty bleak and cold while the cold stormy wintry winds blow, And as soon as the daylight doth appear, to the wild woods we must go. Oh, the cook rises up in the middle of the night saying, “Hurrah, brave boys, it's day." Broken slumbers ofttimes are passed as the cold winter night whiles away. Had we rum, wine or beer our spirits for to cheer in days so lonely do dwine, and cold while the cold stormy wintry winds blow, Or a glass of any shone while in the woods alone for to cheer up our troubled minds. But when spring it does set in, double hardships begin, when the waters are piercing cold, And our clothes are dripping wet and fingers benumbed, and our pike-poles we scarcely can hold. Betwixt rocks, shoals and sands give employment to all hands our well-banded raft for to steer, and cold while the cold stormy wintry winds blow, And the rapids that we run, oh, they seem to us but fun, for we're void of all slavish fear. Oh, a shanty lad is the only lad I love, and I never will deny the same. My heart doth scorn these conceited farmer boys who think it a disgraceful name. They may boast about their farms, but my shanty-boy has charms so far, far surpassing them all, Until death it doth us part he shall enjoy my heart, let his riches be great or small.
Top songs from Dan Zanes
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