OLD FRIENDS (MR. SETTEE'S SONG)

I first saw this lake back in '17

I hauled freight in the winter over land

And I remember the first white man

I will not be hat in hand

And I learned my ABC

In English, French and Cree

There are things I still don't understand

And even though I do not own this land

I will not be hat in hand

For I see those poplars growing way up to the sky

And I hope I'm underneath them when I die

We are old friends, this lake and I

And I remember in '17

What it was like before

Before the cabins blocked off the shore

The kids would run down to the sand

I will not be hat in hand

For I see those poplars growing way up to the sky

And I hope I'm underneath them when I die

We are old friends, this lake and I

And just like old friends

We sit and talk together

And just like old friends

We've seen the years go by

I still love to see those poplars growing

And I hope I'm underneath them when I die

We are old friends, this lake and I

Yes, we are old friends, this lake and I

I first saw this lake back in '17...

from Small Cafe

©1996 Word of Mouth Music

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