Here's the song, copied from the DRAM site given above:

THE GOOD OLD STATE OF MAINE
(Lawrence Gorman)

Come by, men all, give ear a call, until I will relate
From my experience in the lumbering woods; 'twas in the Granite State.
Its snow-clad hills and winding rills, it mountains, rocks, and plain,
You would find it very different from the good old state of Maine.

The unioners and foreigners they flock in by the score;
The diversity of languages would equal Babel's tower.
The Italians, Russians, Poles, and Finns, the Dutchman and the Dane,
You would never hear such drones as those in the good old state of Maine.

The difference in the wages, boys, is scarcely worth a dime,
For it's every day you cannot work, you're forced to lose your time.
For to pay your passage to and fro, you'll find but little gain;
You'll do as well to stay at home in the good old state of Maine.

For it's in the Zealand Valley you'll find seven feet of snow,
And work when the thermometer is 35 below.
They average there three storms a week of sleet, or snow, or rain;
You will seldom find such weather in the good old state of Maine.

Our boss he will direct you with a loud commanding voice,
Saying, "You know the regulations, boys, therefore you have your choice."
Of course, he did not make those rules, of him we can't complain,
But I never heard such rules as those in the good old state of Maine.

Oh, it's every night, with pen and ink, they figure up the cost;
The crew is held responsible for all things broke or lost:
An ax, a handle, or a spade, a cant hook or a chain.
A man is never charged for tools in the good old state of Maine.

They figure things so very fine, it's hard to save a stamp,
For it's every month they do take stock of all things round the camp.
Stove pots, tea kettles, knives and forks, the draw shave and the plane,
Of those they take but small account in the good old state of Maine.

The rules and regulations, as I mentioned here before,
In typewriting and in copies posted up on every door,
For to lose your time and pay your board and work in snow and rain.
They would call us fools to stand such rules in the good old state of Maine.

Now if you do not like the style, you can go down the line.
But if you leave them in the lurch, they'll figure with you fine,
Cut down your wages, and they'll charge your carfare on the train.
I never heard of such a thing in the good old state of Maine.

Oh, 'tis of the grub I'll give a rub, of which it well deserves.
Our cook become so lazy he allowed the men to starve.
'Twas bread and beans, and beans and bread, and bread and beans again.
For grub we sometimes had a change in the good old state of Maine.

Here is adieu to camp and crew, to Henry and Son.
Their names are great throughout the state, they're some of the sons of guns.
I wish them all prosperity until I return again,
But I'll mend my ways and spend my days in the good old state of Maine.


Composition date: 1884-1892
Composers: Lawrence Gorman (1846-1917)
Performers: James Brown, Vocal, 1963