by Floyd Stormer

A tired ol' engineer laments an ice breaking season on the Great Lakes.

I was flaked out in front of the TV set,

Engrossed in the early evening show,

When the O.D. called me on the phone and said,

"Son we gotta go."

The BRAMBLE and the MACNAMARA,

Just met while Toledo bound.

And the MACNAMARA won the fight,

In the first and only round.

So we head down the St. Clair River

And the going sure is rough

We are turning just 2,000 amps,

Just about half enough.

So we ram and batter through the ice

With one ear to the radio.

And hear that both ships are being escorted in

By the tired old TUPELO.

So with swinging weights and engines aroar,

We charge down to do our share.

And when we heave her to at midnight,

We're almost to Lake St. Clair.

Here on the ACACIA nobody feels bad

About the BRAMBLE lumps.

For we always wear upon our hull,

Our share of BRAMBLE bumps.

And I wonder as I stand my watch

What kind of ice breaking year it'll be,

It sure started off like all the rest,

Plain unadulterated misery.

Busted thrust bearings and busted pistons,

That's been our kind of luck.

Half the time we're a one knot cruiser,

And the other half ... Plain stuck.

It's hot cylinders and smoking boom gear,

Give all she's got this ram.

For if we don't get through the windrow,

The coal boat gets us in the can.

So if you want to make a buddy

Of this tired ol' engineer,

Just fix it with the Lord above,

That there ain't no ice this year.

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