So we gets there pretty soon.
Up, up we goes the Rideau Canal,
Not carin’ fer wind nor weather,
An’ at each of the locks, cook hits the ice box,
And we ’as our grog together.
We ’adn’t pawsed mor’n forty lock
Before the sun wuz settin’,
An’ the Capting ’owls “down anchor,
Fer ’ere we’ll fish be gettin’”.
So we outs with our rods and drops our lines,