James Taylor
Now my grandfather was a sailor he blew in off the water
My father was a farmer and I, his only daughter
I took up with a no good mill working 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 ain’t nothing, but a goddamn boring job
I’m waiting for a daydream, to take me through the morning
And put me on my coffee break, here I can have a sandwich and remember
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 cargos and fortunes and sailors lives were lost
But its my life has been wasted and I have been the fool
To let this manufacturer use my body for a tool
As I ride home in the evening I’m staring at my hands
Swearing by my sorrow that a young girl ought to stand a better chance
Millwork ain’t easy…