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Oh, what I'd give to be a gaffer back home,
Where my heart still longs to be to;
And if you were there, oh, the things we would share,
With never a care, in the bushes with you.
I'm sure there's no doubting, as we would go trouting,
Where the flies are so thick, and the sky is so blue;
If there's never a trout, it still would be lovely,
Out there, all alone, in the bushes with you.
Oh, what I'd give to be a young gaffer back home,
Where my heart still longs to be to;
And if you were there, oh, the things we would share,
With never a care, in the bushes with you.
And, if you want to pick a few partidge-berries,
Though I am not a good berry picker, 'tis true;
If there were no berries, not likely I'd worry.
Out doors, all alone, in the bushes with you.
And when we get back, sure we empty our rubbers,
With pine boughs all stuck to our socks like glue;
And I allow you'll blush, if there's twigs on your chemise,
'Cause they'll know I was out in the bushes with you.
Oh, what I'd give to be a young gaffer back home,
Where my heart still longs to be to;
And if you were there, oh, the things we would share,
With never a care, in the bushes with you.
With the birds and bears in the bushes with you.
From the Dictionary Of Newfoundland English:
Gaffer - boy, young fellow, especially one capable of assisting older men at work.
