Logger Love (Traditional)                             it froze my logger love.                          
                                                                                                        
As I sat down one evening 'twas in a small cafe,      They tried in vain to thaw him, and if you        
A forty year old waitress to me these words did       believe me, sir. They cut him into to axe         
say:                                                  blades, to chop the Douglas fir.                  
                                                                                                        
"I see you are a logger and not just a common         And so I lost my lover, and to this cafe I've     
bum For nobody but a logger stirs coffee with         come, To sit and wait for someone who stirs       
his thumb.                                            coffee with his thumb.                            
                                                                                                        
My lover was a logger, there's none like him                                                            
today, If you poured whiskey on it, he'd eat a                                                          
bale of hay.                                                                                            
                                                                                                        
He never shaved his whiskers from off of his                                                            
horny hide, He's drive them in with a hammer and                                                        
bite them off inside.                                                                                   
                                                                                                        
My lover came to see me, 'twas on a stormy day,                                                         
He held me in a fond embrace and broke three                                                            
vertebrae.                                                                                              
                                                                                                        
He kissed me when we parted, so hard he broke my                                                        
jaw That I couldn't speak to tell him he forgot                                                         
his mackinaw.                                                                                           
                                                                                                        
I saw my logger lover go sauntering through the                                                         
snow, A-goin' gaily homeward 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 clear down to China, it froze to the                                                           
stars above, At a thousand degrees below zero,