| Well I'm such a big fan I just had to put at least one Monty Python song in and perhaps more later |
| I'm a Lumberjack and I,m OK I sleep all night and i work all day' Chorus: Repeat I cut down trees, I eat my lunch I go to the lavatory. On Wednesdays i go shopping and have buttered scones for tea Chorus :Repeat I'm a Lumberjack and I'm OK I sleep all night an i work all day I cut down trees, I skip an jump , I like to press Wildflowers. I put on women's clothing and hang a round in bars. Chorus: Repeat I'm a Lumberjack an I'm OK I sleep all night and i work all day. I cut down trees, I wear high heels, suspenders and a bra. I wish I'd been a girlie just like my dear papa Chorus: Repeat (half way) Pause Chorus: He's a Lumberjack and hes OK he sleeps all night and he works all day He's a lumberjack and he's okkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk He sleeps all night n he works all day. |
All right ... I confess I haven't cut your hair ... I hate cutting hair. I have this terrible
un-un-uncontrollable fear whenever I see hair. When I was a kid I used to hate the sight of hair
being cut. My mother said I was a fool. She said the only way to cure it was to become a barber.
So I spent five ghastly years at the Hairdressers' Training Centre at Totnes. Can you imagine
what it's like cutting the same head for five years? I didn't want to be a barber anyway. I wanted
to be a lumberjack. Leaping from tree to tree as they float down the mighty rivers of British
Columbia . . . (he is gradually straightening up with a visionary gleam in his eyes) The giant
redwood, the larch, the fir, the mighty scots pine. (he tears off his barber's jacket, to reveal
tartan shirt and lumberjack trousers underneath; as he speaks the lights dim behind him and a
choir of Mounties is heard, faintly in the distance) The smell of fresh-cut timber! The crash of
mighty trees! (moves to stand infront of back-drop of Canadian mountains and forests) With my
best girlie by my side ... (a frail adoring blonde, the heroine of many a mountains film, or
perhaps the rebel maid, rushes to his side and looks adoringly into his eyes) We'd sing ... sing ...
sing.
un-un-uncontrollable fear whenever I see hair. When I was a kid I used to hate the sight of hair
being cut. My mother said I was a fool. She said the only way to cure it was to become a barber.
So I spent five ghastly years at the Hairdressers' Training Centre at Totnes. Can you imagine
what it's like cutting the same head for five years? I didn't want to be a barber anyway. I wanted
to be a lumberjack. Leaping from tree to tree as they float down the mighty rivers of British
Columbia . . . (he is gradually straightening up with a visionary gleam in his eyes) The giant
redwood, the larch, the fir, the mighty scots pine. (he tears off his barber's jacket, to reveal
tartan shirt and lumberjack trousers underneath; as he speaks the lights dim behind him and a
choir of Mounties is heard, faintly in the distance) The smell of fresh-cut timber! The crash of
mighty trees! (moves to stand infront of back-drop of Canadian mountains and forests) With my
best girlie by my side ... (a frail adoring blonde, the heroine of many a mountains film, or
perhaps the rebel maid, rushes to his side and looks adoringly into his eyes) We'd sing ... sing ...
sing.