Letras
There are many a tale that unfolds at the dawn of the industrial age
When the whale oil lit the lanterns hot and kept the cold at bay
And folk from the yonder north and across the pond
They came to a land of gold and plenty with hopes that they'd be saved
They left their family for a brave new world with word that there was hope
At the mouth of the river in the Nor'east they arrived on the coast
They traveled up valley as duty deemed to man their working post
When the night set in they would spin their stools and all share a toast
As the story goes it was life they chose or was it fate that chose them
They manned those machines and spun those wheels on the river to no end
With a fiddle in hand and a squeeze machine they made the dance go round
Then it's back to the mills, a common drill, spinning those wheels around
And mama's got a baby on the way and another in her arms
But that's alright cause the priest's been told that ten or more is a charm
As the story goes it was life they chose or was it fate that chose them
They manned those machines and spun those wheels on the river to no end
The Pennecook knew the ways of the water, the land and the fertile plains
Some remained in the Merrimack Valley took jobs with the emigrae
Wabanaki and Nipmuc showed their skills then forced out the door
Then came the multitudes and moved upstream like never seen before
Having lived up and down this big ole' river the story that it tells would make one shiver
But dreams that drove those to it's destinations with some would overcome their culture separation
Acceptance was the challenge of the days as many flowed to the job that pays
And made to speak English, forget their tongue or continue on their way or stay on the run
As the story goes it was life they chose or was it fate that chose them
They manned those machines and spun those wheels on the river to no end
As the Yanks looked down upon that valley kept their hands on the fertile plains
And passed their wealth on to family and friends on the backs of the emigrae
From the port to the shoe mills, textile plants where no Irish need apply
The tale goes on to this day where ICE waits outside