When the swollen streams are frozen, and the hills are clad with snow,
O! we'll range the wild woods over, and a lumbering we will go;
And a lumbering we'll go, so a lumbering, &c.
When you pass through the dense city, and pity all you meet,
To hear their teeth chattering as they hurry down the street;
In the red frost-proof flannel we're incased from top to toe,
While we range the wild woods over, and a lumbering we go;
And a lumbering we'll go, so a lumbering, &c.
You may boast of your gay parties, your pleasures, and your plays,
And pity us poor lumbermen while dashing in your sleighs;