La chanson du voyageur

Listen my good friends to what I'm gonna sing
The song of a traveler heading to the job site
The tale of this misery, I'm gonna tell you
Seeing all these settlers in those damn job sites

It's for Phillippe Gagnon that I got myself hired
For the Prince company that I joined
Had to walk five or six miles on foot
To be a traveler, you gotta know how to walk

But when I arrive at the camp, it's not as fun as you think
My mattress made of branches
My bed is made of planks
When you come to lie down
The lice want to eat us
Gotta endure them, no money to be made

When Sunday came, had to wash up
Also wash our clothes, mend them too
If we had a little woman to take care of our clothes
Hoping that on Sunday we could rest

Spring came, we were all happy
To have earned some money to be able to rest
We head to Chicoutimi for a little whiskey
Three days haven't passed, I was still broke

Arriving in Jonquière, I looked foolish
With a terrible headache, I tell you it's scary
But when I got home dressed like a thug
I had no money left, still full of lice

The composer of this song is me, a young traveler
Sitting at the foot of my bed, with a heavy heart
My name is Father Tom, you all know me
I love the little women, not those damn job sites
I love the little women, not those damn job sites