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I've worked all my life in the cannery shed,
And if I'm dying or you think I'm dead,
Don't bury my bones; put me instead,
In a can in the cannery shed.
Now the cannery shed perches over the river,
When the winter winds blow, you freeze and you shiver;
When the boss comes around, I intend to give her,
My opinion of the cannery shed.
We chop off the heads, chop off the tails,
Scoop out the guts and throw 'em in the pails;
Won't get a rest till the next schooner sails,
From the dock at the cannery shed.
There's no time to talk and there's no time to linger,
And you better move sharp or you might lose a finger;
Make your stomach turn if you knew everything 'ere's,
Been canned in a cannery shed.
Now LaFaye went away and he wrote me a letter,
And I tucked it up high in the sleeve of my sweater;
It slipped and it fell and it ended in the shredder,
In a can in the cannery shed.
The cannery boy, he's a very happy fella,
If he gets him a girl from the little town of Stella;
I would if I could but I'm not gonna tell ya,
What goes on behind the cannery shed.
Recorded by Gordon Bok (Herrings In The Bay ©2003, Timberhead Music).
