Come all you jolly fellows
And listen to my song.
It's all about the shanty boys
And how they got along.
We're the jolliest bunch of fellows
That ever your 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
Come all you jolly teamsters
It's time to start the route
The teamsters they will all jump up
In a most frightful way
Where is my boots where are my pants
my socks have gone astray.
At six o'clock it's breakfast
And every man is out
For every man who is not sick
Is sure to be on route
There's choppers and there's loggers
To lay the timbers low
There's swampers and there's haulers
To drag it to and fro.
And then comes up the logger
All at the break of day.
Load. up my sleds five hundred feet,
To the river drive away.
You can here those axes ringing
Until the sun goes down.
Hurray me 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 put on our larrigans
Our supper for to eat.
We'll sing and dance till nine o'clock,
Into our bunks we'll climb
These winter months they won't last long
In hurling down the pine
And then the spring time comes at last,
And soon the boss will say.
"Heave up your saws and axes, boys,
And help to clear the way,
When the floating ice goes out
In business we will thrive
Two hundred able-bodied men
Are wanted of the drive."