Logger Lover

‘Twas as I sat down one morning, ‘twas in a small café,
A forty-year-old waitress to me these words did say

I see that you are a Logger and not just a common bum
For nobody but a Logger stirs his coffee with his thumb

My lover was a Logger, there’s none like him today
If you poured whisky on it, he’d eat a bale of hay

He never shaved his whiskers from off of his horny hide
He’d just drive them in with a hammer and bite them off inside

My lover came to see me, ‘twas on one freezing day
He held me in a fond embrace which broke three vertebrae

He kissed me when we parted, so hard it broke my jaw
I could not speak to tell him he forgot his mackinaw

I watched my lover leaving, as homeward he did go
Sauntering gaily onwards at forty-eight below

The weather tried to freeze him it tried its level best
At a hundred degrees below zero, he buttoned up his vest

It froze right through to China, it froze to the stars above
At a thousand degrees below zero, it froze my Logger Love

And so I lost my lover, and if you believe it, sir
They made him into axe-blades, to chop the Douglas Fir

And now it’s every morning that to this café I come
Until I meet with someone stirs his coffee with his thumb