via Edith Fowke : Lumbering Songs from the Northern Woods

It's as well as I remember 'twas the year of 'forty-five
I thought myself so thankful for to find myself alive
I harnessed up my horses, and I joined the Super crew,
And I went a-hauling cordwood as I often used to do.

I might have hauled one load, I might have hauled four
I went down to Omemee, and I could not haul no more
The baroom it was open, the liquor flying free,
And I drank one glass, another filled for me.

Oh, I met an old acquaintance, I dare not tell his name
He was going to a ball at night; I thought I'd do the same.
He was going to a ball at night, the music sweetly played
And the boys and girls all danced till the breaking of the day.

Oh, I put the saddle on my arm, I struck out to the barn
I saddled up the old grey nag, not thinking any harm.
I saddled up the old grey nag and I rode away quite still,
And I never halted till I came to Downeyville.

Oh, when I got to Downeyville the night was far advanced
I got up on the floor thought I'd have a little dance
The fiddler he was rested, and his arms were stout and strong
Played "The Bluebells of Ireland" for four hours long.

Oh, my father followed after me, I heard the people say
He must have had a spyglass, or he'd never have found the way
He looked in every keyhole that he could see a light
Till his old grey locks were wet with the dew of the night.

Oh, cme all you old married men, I think you've danced enough.
Let us spend a half an hour, and we'll get a cash account.
We'll go home to our plows and whistle and we'll sing,
And you'll never catch us out on a spree like this again.

Oh, come all you old women who tell your tales about,
I pray you tell no tales on me, I'm bad enough without.
I pray you tell no tales on me – I'm sure it's not the first.
If the truth was only known, I'm sure I'm not the worst.