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 are a logger, and not just a common bum,
'cause nobody but a logger stirs his coffee with is thumb

My lover was a logger, there's none like him today
If you'd pour whiskey on it he could eat a bale of hay

He never shaved his whiskers from off of his horny hide
He'd just 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 his fond embrace which broke three vertebrae

He kissed me when we parted, so hard that he broke my jaw;
I could not speak to tell him he'd 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 clean through to china, it froze to 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, and to this cafe I come,
And here I wait till someone stirs his coffee with his thumb