Now my grandfather was a sailor, he blew in off the water
My father was a farmer and I, his only daughter,
took up with a no-good millworking man from Massachusetts
who dies from too much whiskey and leaves me these three faces to feed
Mill-work ain't easy; mill-work ain't hard
Mill-work, it ain't nothing but an awful boring job
I'm waiting for a day dream to take me through the morning
and put me in my coffee break where I can have a sandwich and remember
Then it's me and my machine for the rest of the morning
for the rest of the afternoon
and the rest of my life
Now my mind begins to wander to the days back on the farm
So may I work the mills just as long as I am able
and never meet the man whose name is on the label
It be me and my machine for the rest of the morning
for the rest of the afternoon
and the rest of my life