‘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