From a field recording collected by Alan Lomax and Helen Hartness Flanders. The singer calls this "Green Mountain Boys" but a commentary here says it is an adaptation of "The Backwoodsman," a widely distributed North American lumberman's song.

This song can be found on the album "Thrufters & Throughstones: The Music of Vermont's First 400 Years" (2009) – heard by me via Spotify. My transcription:


GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS
As sung by J.S. Kennison* of Townshend, Vermont

'Twas on the year one [sic] hundred and forty-nine.
I felt myself quite happy to find myself alive.
I harnessed up my horses my day's work to pursue.
I went all in cordwood as my daddy used to do.

I'd hauléd only one load in the room of hauling four.
I went down to the tavern; I couldn't haul no more.
The tavern door being open, the liquor being free,
Soon as one glass was empty, there was another filled for me.

I met an old acquaintance—I dare not tell his name—
Who told me of a ball; 'twas going to be that night.
So with much persuasion, with him I did agree
To meet at the place where the fiddler was to be.

I threw my saddle on my back and went down to the barn.
I saddled up Old Gray [not] thinking any harm.
I saddled up Old Gray and we rode away so still,
She hardly drew her breath till we came to Sandy Hill.

My old daddy he took after me, I've often heard him say.
[If] they hadn't had a pilot, he couldn't [have] found the way,
Looking into ev'ry window where'er there was a light,
Till his old gray locks were wet with the dews of the night.

There was eight of us young gentlemen went on the floor to dance,
With eight as pretty French girls as ever came from France.
The fiddler being willing, his elbow being strong,
Played "The Grounds of Old Ireland" for four hours long.

The morning star is rising boys; you've all danced enough.
Let us gather up our cash and pay the old calf(?).
We'll go home to our plows; we'll whistle and we'll sing.
We never will be caught in such as free as this again.

Come all you good old people that carry the news about.
Don't tell any lies; 'tis bad enough without.
Don't tell any lies for to make any fuss.
You've been guilty of the same, only a good deal worse.


* Elsewhere he is called Josiah Kennison.