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#----------------------------------PLEASE NOTE---------------------------------# #This file is the author's own work and represents their interpretation of the # #song. You may only use this file for private study, scholarship, or research. # #------------------------------------------------------------------------------## #049 {title:The Frozen Logger} {st:James Stevens} As CI sat down one G7evening, 'Twas in a small cafCe, A forty year old Fwaitress To G7me these words did Csay: I see that you're a logger, And not a common bum, For no one but a logger Stirs coffee with his thumb. I once had a logger lover, There's none like him today. If you poured whisky on it, He'd eat a bail of hay. He never shaved a whisker 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 a fond embrace That broke three vertebrae. He kissed me when we parted So hard it broke my jaw; I couldn't speak to tell him He forgot his mackinaw. I saw my logger lover Go stridin' through the snow, A-goin' gaily homeward At forty-eight below. The weather 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 Douglass Fir. And so I lost my logger, And to this cafe I've come, And it's here I wait for someone To stir coffee with his thumb. # # Submitted to the ftp.nevada.edu:/pub/guitar archives # by Steve Putz# 7 September 1992
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