THE IRISH
Fer forty-odd year I have followed the timberFrom the crooked St. Croix to the rollin’ Cloquet,An’ there ain’t any camp thet you yaps kin rememberThet I haven’t seen in my lumberin’ day.I’ve skidded with roundheads who’d only come over,With hunyacks I’ve swamped it fer many a mile;But the time thet I felt I was livin’ in cloverWas bunkin’ with lads from the Emerald Isle.Fer who was the boys thet was catty an’ frisky,The first on a jam with a peavey in hand?Who done the most work an’ who drunk the most whiskyAn’ set us a pace on the water an’ land?When the timber piled high at the bend in the riverThen who was the fellahs to break it in style?Who laughed at the things thet made other men shiver?The happy-go-luckies from Emerald Isle.When it come to a scrap they was quick on the trigger;To call them a name was to go to the mat.They worshiped a woman an’ hated a niggerAn’ fought fer a friend at the drop of the hat.They fought, when they fought, with the fists thet God give ’em—No knife er no gun is an Irishman’s style.There never was yet any walkin’ boss driv ’em,Not even a boss from the Emerald Isle.A dago was first this America grabbin’,Who sailed out of Spain with a schooner er two.It may be Columbus who set in the cabin—I’ll bet it was Irish thet made up the crew.Fer fallin’ the timber, er cussin’ the cattle,Er breakin’ a rollway, er drivin’ a spile,Er ridin’ quick water, er winnin’ a battle,Is fun fer the boys from the Emerald Isle.I am old, an’ the times an’ the people are changin’—The top-loader now has a derrick to help;The college perfessors the forests are rangin’;The lumberjack now is a different whelp.The woods of the North they shall pass into story,A story we tell with a tear an’ a smile—But the men who will fill all its pages with gloryWill be mostly the lads from the Emerald Isle!
Fer forty-odd year I have followed the timberFrom the crooked St. Croix to the rollin’ Cloquet,An’ there ain’t any camp thet you yaps kin rememberThet I haven’t seen in my lumberin’ day.I’ve skidded with roundheads who’d only come over,With hunyacks I’ve swamped it fer many a mile;But the time thet I felt I was livin’ in cloverWas bunkin’ with lads from the Emerald Isle.Fer who was the boys thet was catty an’ frisky,The first on a jam with a peavey in hand?Who done the most work an’ who drunk the most whiskyAn’ set us a pace on the water an’ land?When the timber piled high at the bend in the riverThen who was the fellahs to break it in style?Who laughed at the things thet made other men shiver?The happy-go-luckies from Emerald Isle.When it come to a scrap they was quick on the trigger;To call them a name was to go to the mat.They worshiped a woman an’ hated a niggerAn’ fought fer a friend at the drop of the hat.They fought, when they fought, with the fists thet God give ’em—No knife er no gun is an Irishman’s style.There never was yet any walkin’ boss driv ’em,Not even a boss from the Emerald Isle.A dago was first this America grabbin’,Who sailed out of Spain with a schooner er two.It may be Columbus who set in the cabin—I’ll bet it was Irish thet made up the crew.Fer fallin’ the timber, er cussin’ the cattle,Er breakin’ a rollway, er drivin’ a spile,Er ridin’ quick water, er winnin’ a battle,Is fun fer the boys from the Emerald Isle.I am old, an’ the times an’ the people are changin’—The top-loader now has a derrick to help;The college perfessors the forests are rangin’;The lumberjack now is a different whelp.The woods of the North they shall pass into story,A story we tell with a tear an’ a smile—But the men who will fill all its pages with gloryWill be mostly the lads from the Emerald Isle!
Fer forty-odd year I have followed the timberFrom the crooked St. Croix to the rollin’ Cloquet,An’ there ain’t any camp thet you yaps kin rememberThet I haven’t seen in my lumberin’ day.I’ve skidded with roundheads who’d only come over,With hunyacks I’ve swamped it fer many a mile;But the time thet I felt I was livin’ in cloverWas bunkin’ with lads from the Emerald Isle.
Fer forty-odd year I have followed the timber
From the crooked St. Croix to the rollin’ Cloquet,
An’ there ain’t any camp thet you yaps kin remember
Thet I haven’t seen in my lumberin’ day.
I’ve skidded with roundheads who’d only come over,
With hunyacks I’ve swamped it fer many a mile;
But the time thet I felt I was livin’ in clover
Was bunkin’ with lads from the Emerald Isle.
Fer who was the boys thet was catty an’ frisky,The first on a jam with a peavey in hand?Who done the most work an’ who drunk the most whiskyAn’ set us a pace on the water an’ land?When the timber piled high at the bend in the riverThen who was the fellahs to break it in style?Who laughed at the things thet made other men shiver?The happy-go-luckies from Emerald Isle.
Fer who was the boys thet was catty an’ frisky,
The first on a jam with a peavey in hand?
Who done the most work an’ who drunk the most whisky
An’ set us a pace on the water an’ land?
When the timber piled high at the bend in the river
Then who was the fellahs to break it in style?
Who laughed at the things thet made other men shiver?
The happy-go-luckies from Emerald Isle.
When it come to a scrap they was quick on the trigger;To call them a name was to go to the mat.They worshiped a woman an’ hated a niggerAn’ fought fer a friend at the drop of the hat.They fought, when they fought, with the fists thet God give ’em—No knife er no gun is an Irishman’s style.There never was yet any walkin’ boss driv ’em,Not even a boss from the Emerald Isle.
When it come to a scrap they was quick on the trigger;
To call them a name was to go to the mat.
They worshiped a woman an’ hated a nigger
An’ fought fer a friend at the drop of the hat.
They fought, when they fought, with the fists thet God give ’em—
No knife er no gun is an Irishman’s style.
There never was yet any walkin’ boss driv ’em,
Not even a boss from the Emerald Isle.
A dago was first this America grabbin’,Who sailed out of Spain with a schooner er two.It may be Columbus who set in the cabin—I’ll bet it was Irish thet made up the crew.Fer fallin’ the timber, er cussin’ the cattle,Er breakin’ a rollway, er drivin’ a spile,Er ridin’ quick water, er winnin’ a battle,Is fun fer the boys from the Emerald Isle.
A dago was first this America grabbin’,
Who sailed out of Spain with a schooner er two.
It may be Columbus who set in the cabin—
I’ll bet it was Irish thet made up the crew.
Fer fallin’ the timber, er cussin’ the cattle,
Er breakin’ a rollway, er drivin’ a spile,
Er ridin’ quick water, er winnin’ a battle,
Is fun fer the boys from the Emerald Isle.
I am old, an’ the times an’ the people are changin’—The top-loader now has a derrick to help;The college perfessors the forests are rangin’;The lumberjack now is a different whelp.The woods of the North they shall pass into story,A story we tell with a tear an’ a smile—But the men who will fill all its pages with gloryWill be mostly the lads from the Emerald Isle!
I am old, an’ the times an’ the people are changin’—
The top-loader now has a derrick to help;
The college perfessors the forests are rangin’;
The lumberjack now is a different whelp.
The woods of the North they shall pass into story,
A story we tell with a tear an’ a smile—
But the men who will fill all its pages with glory
Will be mostly the lads from the Emerald Isle!