The Frozen Logger / T�mmerhoggaren -

The Frozen Logger / T�mmerhoggaren

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Song Name: The Frozen Logger / T�mmerhoggaren By: James Stevens / Hartvig Kiran
Posted By: Muskox Difficulty: Any
Key: C Genre: General
Harp Type: Chromatic Audio:
Created: 2015-02-15 09:45:54 Modified: 2015-02-20 06:37:53
Rating: Login to VoteAvg Rating:More Votes Needed
Fav Count:0

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English version

Norwegian version

3 6 6 -5 5 -4 -5
As I sat down one evening,
6 -6 -6 7 -5 6

Into a small cafe, 
6 7 7 7 -6 6 -3 -5

A forty year old waitress,
4 -4 -6 6 -5 5
to me these words did say: 


"I see you are a logger, and not just a common bum, 

'Cause no one but a logger stirs his coffee with his thumb. 


My lover was a logger, there's none like him today; 

If you poured whisky on it, he'd eat a bale of hay 


He never shaved his whiskers from off of his horny hide; 

He hammered in the bristles, and bit them off inside. 


My logger came to see me, twas on a winter's day; 

He held me in his fond embrace, which broke three vertebrae. 


He kissed me when we parted, so hard it broke my jaw; 

I could not speak to tell him, he'd forgot his mackinaw. 


I saw my logger lover, go striding through the snow, 

Going gaily homeward, at forty-eight below. 


The weather it tried to freeze him, it did its very best; 

At a hundred degrees below zero, he buttoned up his vest. 


It froze clear down 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 if you believe it, sir 

They made him into axe blades, to cut the Douglas fir. 


And so I lost my lover, and to this cafe I've come, 

And here I wait till someone, stirs his coffee with his thumb."



3 6 6 -5 5-4 -5
Ein kveld i kaffihuset
6 -6 -6 7 -5 6
ved disken fekk eg sjå
6 7 7 7 -6 6 -3 -5
ei førti år gamal jente
4 -4 -6 6 -5 5
som sa til meg som så:


Eg ser du er tømmerhoggar, for andre knapt du finn som rører rundt i kaffi'n med tommeltotten sin.


Min ven var tømmerhoggar, hans make knapt du fann. Eit høystål vætt i whisky var barnemat for han.


Han raka aldri skjegget frå huda hard og grå, men slo det inn med slegge og beit det innanfrå.


Til meg kom tømmerhoggar'n ein dag då snøen fauk. Han tok så kjærleg kring meg at to-tre ribbein rauk.


Så hard var avskilskyssen at kjaken or hengsla spratt; og eg fekk ikkje sagt han at jakka hans låg att.


Med song i snø han subba, min kjærast god som gull, og då stod gradestokken på førti under null.


Sitt verste freista veret te frøyse venen min, ved hundre grader såg eg han knepte vesten sin.


Og havet fraus til botnar, og himfen ligervis, ved tusen grader minus vart venen min til is.


Og då han aldri bråna, så hogg dei fliser a'n og smidde okseeggar te hogge Douglas-gran.


Så sit eg her og ventar til eg ein annan finn som rører rundt i kaffi'n med tommeltotten sin.

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