Classic Poem

River driving on the Sacondog,
Riding on a slippery log,
Sleeping in a frozen bog —
My girl's waiting for me.

Hard-boiled eggs three times a day,
Wet as beavers we hit the hay,
Not much sleep but good big pay —
My girl's waiting for me.

Big French Joe and I went out
To break the jam; I heard him shout:
" Prenez garde , " and the jam went out —
My girl's waiting for me.

Big French Joe, the logs drowned him;
He'd no chance to fight and swim,
Logs jammed up to the river's rim —
My girl's waiting for me.

His girl come to me and cry,
" If he's dead, then I shall die;
" Ma Petite ," he used to sigh. " —
My girl's waiting for me.

We will find him down below,
Round the bend where the water's slow,
Floating with his " pike " in tow —
My girl's waiting for me.

" Ma Petite " will wring her hand
When we scrape the yellow sand
And lay him by the river strand. —
My girl's waiting for me.

One more night and one more day,
The logs will reach the river bay;
I'll skin off these togs, and — say —
My girl's waiting for me.