Origins: My Name is Joe Williams (Bawdy)

Subject: Origins: My Name is Joe Williams (Bawdy)
From: and e
Date: 26 Mar 25 - 07:49 AM

My Name is Joe Williams

My name it is Joe Williams,
To the lumber woods I steer.
Like any old bull puncher,
I drink my whiskey clear.
Like any old bull puncher,
I drink my whiskey down,
I'm a rambling wreck of poverty
And a son-of-a-bitch by God.

I landed in Grand Rapids,
Was there I made a stand,
A-marching up and down the street,
My fuck-stick in my hand.
A-marching up and down the street,
I met a pretty lass,
And you can bet your hinder
I shoved it in her ass.

Oh the water running from her [?]
Could run the water mill,
And if you had a big fat hog
To make a barrel of swill.
Oh when I reach the lumber camps
I found that I had the pox,
And I wished I'd saved my money
And screwed the old [?] fox.

Oh swamper cut that log off
You [lubber cocked] son of a whore,
[You'll be so sassed] you can suck my ass
'Til your upper lip is sore.
And now I'm going home
Bull punching for to quit,
I haven't got a nickel
And don't give a shit.

Sung by Lee Tester (b. 1878?) on July 27, 1941. Lee Tester was a tail-sawyer;
his father was head-sawyer [both types of lumberjacks]. Recorded in
Rhinelander, Wisconsin by Helene Stratman-Thomas.

Listen online here: https://digital.library.wisc.edu/1711.dl/RGB35SWD4VTYY85


A rare song. I could find only four texts (three recordings) and very few references.

Subject: RE: Origins: My Name is Joe Williams (Bawdy)
From: and e
Date: 26 Mar 25 - 07:54 AM

[Oh, my name is John Williams], my age is twenty-one.
I am an old bull puncher, and a roarin' son of a gun.

So [..............] I think you' better git.
And don't you dare to kicketh me, or I'll whip you till you shit.

Oh, swamper, cut that knot off, you lop-cock son of a whore.
Or suck my snotty old fuck stick till your upper lip gets sore.

And when I go to Ludington, I think I am a man.
I'll wander up and down the streets with the dodger in my hand.

Until I meet some pretty lass, who chanced to go a-past.
I'll introduce her to my tool and run it up her ass.

I'd run it up her little guts until she took a fit.
And when I pulled my dodger out, it was covered with blood and shit.

And the phlegm flew up on her arsehole to run a flouring mill.
And the spendings out her damned old snatch woulda filled a barrel swill.

And when I got to camp again, I found I had the pox,
I wished to Christ that I'd stayed to home and screw my old up-ox.

Oh, I did her up in axle grease and tied her in a rag.
Oh, curse the whore that sucked me up, I wish I were a stag.

Transcribed from the singing of Orin Miller, of Scottville, Michigan,
recorded September 8, 1977 by Paul Gifford (https://giffordmusic.net).
The first line ("My name is John Williams and my age is twenty-one")
is clipped at the beginning.

The tune has been identified as "Solomon Levi" by Ed Cray.


Listen & download mp3 here: https://giffordmusic.net/MP3/MillerMyNameIsJohnWilliams.mp3

Subject: RE: Origins: My Name is Joe Williams (Bawdy)
From: and e
Date: 26 Mar 25 - 08:11 AM

A second song, derived in part from "The Son of a Gambolier"
and performed in Newberry by Bert Graham, is "Joe Williams," regarding
a foul-mouthed, lusty ox-driver who ventures from the woods to town
and back again in search of female companionship (AFS 2344 A1).

Oh my name it is Joe Williams and my age is twenty-one,
I'm a rambling wreck of poverty and a roving son-of-a-gun.
From driving ox teams in Comstock lumber woods,
To hear me curse and swear at them it'll do your asshole good.

Whoa Buck! Gee haw Diamond! You broad-horned son-of-a-bitch.
It's don't you dare to kish at me, or I'll slog you till you tip.
Come swamper, cut that knot off, you lobcocked son-of-a-whore.
Or I'll make you suck that off-ox tit till your upper lip gets sore.

Now I'm like any old bullpuncher, I like my lager beer.
Like any old bullpuncher, I like my whisky clear.
Like any old bullpuncher, I like my gin and tod.
For I'm a rambling wreck of poverty and a son-of-a-gun, b'god.

Oh it's now I go down to Cheboygan,6 1 think I'm quite a man.
I promenade around the streets, my aleck in my hand.
In going up Broadway, I met a pretty lass.
I introduced her to my aleck and slap 'er up her ass.

Oh I tangled up her little guts till she was in a fit,
And when I pulled out old Reuben, he was covered in blood and shit.
Oh the spendings from her asshole would run a water mill,
And if you had a fatter sow, you'd a-got a barrel of swill.

For I'm like any old bullpuncher, I like my lager beer.
Like any old bullpuncher, I chase me whisky clear.
Like any old bullpuncher, I like my gin and tod,
For I'm a rambling wreck of poverty and a son-of-a-gun, b'god.

So now I go back to the woods, I found I've got the pox,
I wish to Christ I'd stayed at home and shagged that old off-ox.
Put on a little wagon grease and did it up in a rag,
For when I think of that old whore, I wish I were a stag.

So now my song is ended and I'll sing to you no more.
So health to all you shanty boys and hell to that old whore.
So now my song is ended and I'll sing to you, alas!
And if any of you don't like this song, you can kiss that off-ox ass.(7)

7. In addition to common woods terms like "bullpuncher" and "swamper," the rarer "kish" is a "call to
cows or calves" previously reported from Dutch and Flemish settlements in North Dakota and "on the Upper
Delaware and in the Catskills"—perhaps indicating its route into the Michigan lumber camps (Cassidy and Hall
1996:228). Presumably an ox that would "kish" at its driver is "talking back." Paul Gifford confirmed that this
song was in oral tradition in Michigan in the 1970s: "I taped a man named Orin Miller, of Scottville, MI (a
fiddler) sing a version of this. His version had "Ludington" instead of "Cheboygan," but it was equally filthy
("swamper, cut that knot off, you lop-cock son of a whore, or suck my old snotty old fuck-stick until your upper
lip gets sore," etc.)" (Gifford 2007) .

From "Woodsmen, Shanty Boys, Bawdy Songs and Folklorists in America's
Upper Midwest" by James P. Leary, in The Folklore Historian,
Volume 24, 2007.

The text of the song above is from the singing of Bert Graham,
Newberry, Michigan, recorded August 1938.


Listen online: https://search.library.wisc.edu/digital/A2GMOMLZNFINBL9B

Subject: RE: Origins: My Name is Joe Williams (Bawdy)
From: and e
Date: 26 Mar 25 - 08:15 AM

My name it is Joe Williams, my age is twenty-one
I came out to the country a ramblin' son-of-a-gun.
Like all other old bull-punchers I love my whiskey tod;
I'm a ramblin' wreck of poverty and a son-of-a-bitch for grog.

Chorus: whoa back, Broad, you long-horned son-of-a-bitch,
Bullie, if you kick me, I'll slug you till you shit.
Swamper, cut that knot off, you cock eyed son-of-a-whore,
You can suck my dirty asshole till your upper lip is sore

I went down to town, I thought I was a man,
I run 'round the street with my elick in my hand.
On Fifth Avenue I met a pretty lass,
I introduced her to me elick, and I shoved it up her ass.

When it went up in her little gt, she went off in a fit,
And when I pulled it out, it was all covered with blood and shit.
The drip rand down her legs, that would run a water mill,
If you was a-feedin' bacon-hogs, it would have made a barrel of swill.

Chorus
When I got to camp, I found I had the pock,
I wished I had stayed at home and banged my old off-ox
I tied it up in axle grease, I washed it with a rag,
And I bathed it in cold water, till I wished I was a stag.
When I went to piss, my whole asshole was on fire,
And if you think it didn't hurt, you are a goddamned liar.

Chorus
Now my song is ended, I'll sing to you no more,
Farewell, all you chippy girls, farewell, all you whore.
Now my song is ended, I'll sing you my last;
If you don't like my little song, you can suck my dirty ass.

Field Collections and Manuscripts: [Library of Congress] LC-AFS 2344 A1.

From Riley Neal, text and music in Logsdon's Whorehouse Bells Were Ringing, 1989. pp.182-185

See here.

Subject: RE: Origins: My Name is Joe Williams (Bawdy)
From: and e
Date: 26 Mar 25 - 08:33 AM

Why should we be interested in forestry?
Because in less than thirty years the song of
the saw will have ceased in "Ouisonsin." No
longer will you hear "My name it is Joe
Williams, for the pine woods I do steer", and
no longer the old camp chantey, "But I will
go to Wisconsin, and give myself a chance."

August 25, 1922, p. 20, Lumber World Review.

Lumber World Review

Subject: RE: Origins: My Name is Joe Williams (Bawdy)
From: cnd
Date: 26 Mar 25 - 08:41 AM

The tune of the first seems close to "When the Work's All Done This Fall" to me.

Subject: RE: Origins: My Name is Joe Williams (Bawdy)
From: cnd
Date: 27 Mar 25 - 08:29 AM

Here's the only snatch of the song I've found of what could be the song in period newspapers; unsurprisingly, it's not bawdy. Actually, I'm not even sure if it's the same song: it seems to be a blend of a couple (at least). As printed Canada's Sasketoon Daily Star on February 22nd, 1922, p. 4 (link)

C.R.E., whose address we are unable to locate on the letter, asks for a poem "The murder of Ben Aulten," of which the following lines are given:
  My name it is Joe Williams,
  My age is twenty-one;
  For the murder of Ben Aulten
  On the scaffold I'll be hung.