FROZEN LOGGER^^^
(James Stevens)

As I sat down one evening,
'Twas in a small cafe,
A forty-year old waitress, (or "six-foot seven waitress")
To me these words did say:

I see you are a logger
And not just a common bum,
For no one but a logger
Stirs his coffee with his thumb.

I had a logger lover,
There's none like him today,
If you'd pour whiskey on it
He'd eat a bale of hay.

He never shaved a whisker
From off of this horny hide,
He hammered in the bristles
And bit 'em off inside.

My logger came to see me,
Twas on a winter day,
He held me in a fond embrace
That broke three vertebrae.

He kissed me when he left me
So hard that he broke my jaw;
I could not speak to tell him
He'd forgot his mackinaw.

I saw my logger lover
Go sauntering through the snow,
A whistling gaily homeward
At forty-eight below.

The weather tried to freeze him,
It tried its level best;
At a hundred degrees below zero
He buttoned up his vest.

It froze clear through 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 would you believe it sir,
They made him into axe blades
To chop the Douglas fir.

That's how I lost my logger,
And it's to this cafe I've come,
And here I wait for someone,
To stir his coffee with his thumb.

This is off the top of my head, many years since I last was anyplace to sing it. I'm sure folks can offer a few corrections or a forgotten verse or two.

Maggie