Well my name is John Andrew MacFarlane The year is eighteen hundred and three I'm sitting alone with my axe and my stone Staring up at another tree I'll sharpen my blade to cut timbers Although none of it's for me But things will be different When I get down to Margaree
They're waiting for word back in Pictou They're waiting there to hear from me They're waiting to hear if the land has been cleared And it's time to bring the family There will be plenty of room on this homstead But there isn't any room for me But things will be different When I get down to Margaree
Well, my father said he wanted to see me On the day that we put out to sea said "For the love of your clan And respect for the land, boy Now this is how it has to be You're my oldest son, lad and I love you But there's just too many mouths to feed So you'll build me my homestead And you'll move on to Margaree"
So now I'm breaking my back on his axe and his plow I'm building his dreams on the sweat of my brow I want to say I want to stay but my pride won't allow ...
I wonder if it's like I imagined? I wonder if there's fish in the streams? I wonder if the land will be kind to this man? If there's a pretty girl waiting for me? But for now I guess I'll keep on working I guess I'll knock myself another tree For my time will come When I get down to Margaree Oh yes the world will be mine When I get down to Margaree