Grandad was a sailor
He blew in of the water
My father was a farmer
And I his only daughter
I took up with a no good mill workin' man from Massachusetts
Who died from too much whiskey
And leaves me these three faces to feed
Millwork ain't easy
Millwork ain't hard
Millwork most often is a goddamn awful boring job
And I'm waitin' for a day dream
to take me throught the morning
And put me in my coffee break
Where I can have my sandwich and remember
And it's me and my machine
For the rest of the morning
For the rest of the afternoon
And the rest of my life
My mind begins to wander to the days back on the farm
And I can see my father smiling at me swinging on his arm
And I can hear my Grandads stories of the storms out on Lake Eerie
Vessels and cargos, fortunes and sailor's lives were lost
It's my life that's been wasted
And I have been a fool
To let this manufacturer use my body for a tool
Well, I get to ride home in the evening
Staring at my hands
Swearing by my sorrow
That a young girl ought to stand a better chance
And may I work this mill just as long as I am able
And never meet the man whose name is on the label
And it's me and my machine for the rest of the morning
For the rest of the afternoon
And the rest of my life

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