Breedloves's Folk Songs


The” Frozen Logger” was written by a onetime mule skinner, hobo poet and bull cook
named Jim Stevens, one of the first men to set the tall tales of Paul Bunyan down on
paper (1925). He wrote the lyrics in 1928, borrowed the melody of an old ballad to go
with them. He finally got it published last year, and the folk-singing Weavers picked it up
and boosted it into popularity. So much popularity, says Stevens, 59, that “I hear some of
the boys in the woods are beginning to use their thumbs in the coffee again.”
As I sat down one evening, within a small cafe
A forty year old waitress to me these words did say
I see that you’re a logger, and not just a common bum
‘Cause nobody but a logger stirs his coffee with his thumb
My lover was a logger, there’s none like him today
If you’d pour whiskey on him, he’d eat a bale of hay
He never shaved his whiskers from off his horny hide
He’d drive them in with a hammer, and bite them off inside
My lover came to see me, upon one freezing day
He held me in a fond embrace which broke three vertebrae
He kissed me when we parted, so hard he broke my jaw
I could not speak to tell him, he forgot his mackinaw
I saw my lover leaving, sauntering through the snow
Going gaily homeward at forty-eight below
The weather it 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 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 me, sir
They made him into axeblades, to chop the Douglas fir
And so I lost my lover, to this cafe I come
And here I wait till someone stirs his coffee with his thumb

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