Logging songs, poetry & parody's past & present

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Westboastfaller

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Rained out & blown out for yet another day. Feel free to share some logging history of the past from your area or otherwise.
Do you guys know any cool songs? Perhaps write something or find some.

Here is one I found to kick it off. I do believe it's home grown.
Happy 'Fourth' weekend.


  • Good Timber

    • by Douglas Malloch
    The tree that never had to fight
    For sun and sky and air and light,
    But stood out in the open plain
    And always got its share of rain,
    Never became a forest king
    But lived and died a scrubby thing.

    The man who never had to toil
    To gain and farm his patch of soil,
    Who never had to win his share
    Of sun and sky and light and air,
    Never became a manly man
    But lived and died as he began.

    Good timber does not grow with ease:
    The stronger wind, the stronger trees;
    The further sky, the greater length;
    The more the storm, the more the strength.
    By sun and cold, by rain and snow,
    In trees and men good timbers grow.

    Where thickest lies the forest growth,
    We find the patriarchs of both.
    And they hold counsel with the stars
    Whose broken branches show the scars
    Of many winds and much of strife.
    This is the common law of life.
 
Lyrics: James Stevens



As I sat down one evening, twas in a small cafe,
A forty year old waitress, to me these words did say:

"I see you are a logger, and not just a common bum,
'Cause no one 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 hammered in the bristles, and bit them off inside.

My logger came to see me, twas on a winter's day;
He held me in his 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'd forgot his mackinaw.

I saw my logger lover, go striding through the snow,
Going gaily homeward, at forty-eight below.

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

It froze clear down to China, it froze to the stars above;
At a thousand degrees below zero, it froze my logger love.

They tried in vain to thaw him, and if you believe it, sir
They made him into axe blades, to cut the Douglas fir.

And so I lost my lover, and to this cafe I've come,
And here I wait till someone, stirs his coffee with his thumb."
 


I could hear the rain all night. I rolled at of bed and I realized it was windy too. I saw my Bullbucker on the way to the kitchen as he was comming back and I said I was scared and he said "we are all scared"...lol. He took the 10 min drive up to the block and quickly can back and gave the thumbs down.

The late great Jonny Cash
"The Lumberjack"
 
"The Jam At Gerry's Rock"

Come all of you bold shanty boys
And listen while I relate
Concerning a young riverman
And his untimely fate
Concerning a bold shanty boy
So manly too and brave
T'was at the jam at Gerrys Rock
He met his watery grave

T'was one bright Sunday morning
As you will quickly hear
Th logs were piling mountain high
We could not keep them clear
The foreman cried, turn out brave lads
With hearts devoided of fear
We'll break the jam at Gerrys Rock
For Higginstown we'll steer

Some of the boys were willing
While others they were not
Fer to work on jams on Sunday
They did not think we ought
But some of our Canadain boys
Did volunteer to go
And break the jam at Gerrys Rock
With their foreman, young Monroe

They had not rolled off many logs
Till they heard his clear voice sing,
I'll have you boys be on your guard
For the jam 'll soon give way
These words were scarcely spoken
When the mass did break an' go
And it carried away the six brave youths
With their foreman, young Monroe

Rest of these bold shanty boys
This sad news come to hear
In search of their dead comrades
For the river they did steer
Some of the mangled bodies
A floating down did go
But crushed and bleeding near the shore
Was the form of young Monroe

They dragged him from his watery grave
Brushed back his raven hair
There one fair form among them
Whose sad cries rung the air
There was one fair form among them
A maid from Sagnaw town
Whose lonesome cries rose to the skies
For her true love who'd gone down

Fair Clara was this young girls name
The rivermens true friend
She and her widowed Mother dear
Lived at the rivers bend
Th wages of her own true love
The boss to her did pay
And the shanty boys, for her made up
A generous purse next day

They buried him with sorrow deep
T'was on the first of May
Come all of you bold shanty boys
And for your comrades pray
Engraved upon a hemlock tree
That near the grave did grow
Was th name and date of the sad, sad fate
Of the shanty boy Monroe

Fair Clara did not long survive
Her heart broke with the grief
And scarcely two months past away
Death came to her relief
And when the time had passed away
And she was called to go
Her last request was granted to
Be laid by young Monroe...
:cry:...
 
Worlds most "famous" whistle punk.
Even book stocks are showing out of stock. They still have live shows with a lot of his material.
Victoria museum will have all kinds but no samples on the net

i have the whistle punk Jamie. i think it's in part 2 of the vid i posted. didn't watch part 1. might even be in there. haven't watched those vids in forever. someone confirm they can watch the vid? not sure if i have it set so no one can or not.
 
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