F# C#
Oh, a shanty-man's life is a wearisome life,
D#m C# D#m
although some think it void of care
F# C#
Swinging an ax from morning till night
D#m C# D#m
in the midst of the forests so drear.
F# D#m
Lying in the shanty bleak
F# D#m
and cold while the cold stormy wintry winds blow,
G# D#m G# F# D#m C# D#m
And as soon as the daylight doth appear, to the wild woods we must go.
F# C#
Oh, the cook rises up in the middle of the night saying,
D#m C# D#m
“Hurrah, brave boys, it's day."
F# C#
Broken slumbers ofttimes are passed
D#m C# D#m
as the cold winter night whiles away.
F# D#m
Had we rum, wine or beer our spirits
F# D#m
for to cheer in days so lonely do dwine,
and cold while the cold stormy wintry winds blow,
G# D#m G# F# D#m C# D#m
Or a glass of any shone while in the woods alone for to cheer up our troubled minds.
F# C#
But when spring it does set in, double hardships begin,
D#m C# D#m
when the waters are piercing cold,
F# C#
And our clothes are dripping wet and fingers benumbed,
D#m C# D#m
and our pike-poles we scarcely can hold.
F# D#m
Betwixt rocks, shoals and sands
F# D#m
give employment to all hands our well-banded raft for to steer,
and cold while the cold stormy wintry winds blow,
G# D#m G# F# D#m C# D#m
And the rapids that we run, oh, they seem to us but fun, for we're void of all slavish fear.
F# C#
Oh, a shanty lad is the only lad I love,
D#m C# D#m
and I never will deny the same.
F# C#
My heart doth scorn these conceited farmer boys
D#m C# D#m
who think it a disgraceful name.
F# D#m
They may boast about their farms,
F# D#m
but my shanty-boy has charms so far, far surpassing them all,
G# D#m G# F# D#m C# D#m
Until death it doth us part he shall enjoy my heart, let his riches be great or small.
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