I’m tired of the rustle and hustle,
I’m sick of the racket and din,
I want to cut loose from the bustle
Go out where the rivers begin.
I long to get up in the open,
‘Mongst the cedar and tall tamarack.
I want to make camp on some lake shore
In an old tumbledown lumber shack.
I’m sick of the pomp and the grandeur.
I’m tired of the falseness and bluff.
I want to get up where the country
Is virgin and wooded and rough.
I long to awake in the morning,
and pull on an old flannel shirt,
and corduroy pants that are mended,
And moccasins covered with dirt.
I care not a cuss where the place is,
Nor how far away it may be,
So long as it’s up in the open,
Where I can unleash and be free.