I've wandered all over this country
Prospecting and digging for gold
I've tunnelled, hydraulicked and cradled
And I have been frequently sold

For one who gets riches by mining
Perceiving that hundreds grow poor
I made up my mind to try farming
The only pursuit that is sure

Rolling my grub in the blanket
I left all my tools on the ground
I started one morning to shank it
For the country they call Puget Sound

Arriving flat broke in mid-winter
The ground was enveloped in fog
And covered all over with timber
Thick as the hair on the back of a dog

I looked at the prospects so gloomy
The tears trickled over my face
And I thought my troubles had brought me
To the end of the jumping-off place

I staked me a claim in the forest
And sat myself down to hard toil
For two years I chopped and I struggled
But I never got down to the soil

I tried to get out of the country
But poverty forced me to stay
Until I became an old settler
And nothing could drive me away

And now that I'm used to the country
I think that if man ever found
A place to live happy and easy
That Eden is on Puget Sound

No longer the slave of ambition
I laugh at the world and its shams
As I think of my happy condition
Surrounded by acres of clams

Folk song notes

Ivar Haglund