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

Millwork ain't easy, millwork ain't hard

Millwork it ain't nothing but an awful boring job

I'm waiting for a daydream 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

I can see my father smiling at me, swinging on his arm

I can hear my granddad's stories of the storms out on Lake Erie

Where vessels and cargoes and fortunes and sailors' lives were lost

Yes, but it's my life has been wasted, and I have been the fool

To let this manufacturer use my body for a tool

I can ride home in the evening, staring at my hands

Swearing by my sorrow that a young girl ought to stand a better chance

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

And the rest of the afternoon, gone for the rest of my life