The Little Pot Stove
Where the winter blizzards blow
And the whaling fleet's at rest
Tucked in Leigh harbor's sheltered bay
Safely anchored ten abreast
But there's the whale in at their stations
As from ship to ship they row
Carry bags of coal with them, and a little iron stove
In that little dark engine room
Where the chill seeps in your soul
How we huddled round that little pot stove
That burned oily rags and coal
The fireman Paddy works with me
On the engine frozen cold
A stranger to the truth was he
There's not a lie he hasn't told
Well, he boasted of his gold mines
And of all the hearts he had won
And his bonny sense of humor shone just like a ray of sun
In that little dark engine room
Where the chill seeps in your soul
How we huddled round that little pot stove
That burned oily rags and coal
We labored seven days a week
With cold hands and frozen feet
Bitter days and lonely nights
Making grog and having fights
But the salt fish and whale meat sausage
And fresh penguin eggs a treat
And we struggled on to work each day through icy winds and sleet
In that little dark engine room
Where the chill seeps in your soul
How we huddled round that little pot stove
That burned oily rags and coal
Then one day we saw the sun
We saw the factory ships return
Meet your old friends and you sing a song
We hope the journey wasn't be long
Then it's homeward bound then it's over
And we'll leave this icy hole
But I always will remember that little iron stove
In that little dark engine room
Where the chill seeps in your soul
How we huddled round that little pot stove
That burned oily rags and coal
In that little dark engine room
Where the chill seeps in your soul
How we huddled round that little pot stove
That burned oily rags and coal
Writer/s: Harry Robertson
