Yeah he had drag us all over these AmericasnFrom Buenos Aires up to Billings MontananToday we’re in the southern states of AmericanSomewhere, somewhere, working in some iron cavenMy papa had his pick axe propped above his headnAnd without another swing, he heard that voicenHe heard what is said, and he cried outnCry: oh not againnHe dropped his pick axe right there on the cave floornHeaded on up out and made a left turn n(That’s north east to you and I)nnMy 13 years old sister she gathered up the rest of the familynTo see what our papa was going this time, this timenWe got outside, we could tell by the itch in his walknBy the stoop in his shoulder nBy the angle of his mining boots nHe was going back homenBack home to LabradornWe were welcome no morennAnd she called : ncries, we gotta stay right herenWe gotta face his heirnWe cannot disappearnYeah the all family got caught up in his hullabaloonPicking up those mining rocks whipping them at my papanMy sister, she took her pick axenTried to spade it through my father’s backnBut she missed, she throws like a womannBut my sweetheart, my mama, she took off her iron necklacenAnd she cranked my father in the back of the headnHe slowed down, and with a sweep of his great right armnHe swept up all this articlesnHe swept up that pick axenHe swept up the mining rocksnHe swept up that iron necklacenAnd put ‘em in his sacknHe headed back to LabradornWe were welcome no morenBack home to LabradornWe were welcome no morennPittsburgh, Pennsylvania, he went to Buffalo, New York nHe came to Montreal, spoke to some of my relations therenHe made a left turn at Trois-Rivières and he came to Churchill FallsnHe looked 127 meters up into the skyn(I don’t know your American conversion)nAnd a branch came over his facenAnd his decision was madenSo he took out my sister pick axenStarted hacking away in this maple treenHe cut 16 even pieces, put them in a shape of a barrelnHe started hacking away in the stomp of this maple treenTo make a bottom for the barrelnHe started hacking away in this stomp of a maple treenTo make a top for the barrelnHe put the barrel on his backnAnd east, about a mile of Churchill RivernThrew the barrel in the water, into the rivernThrew himself into the barrel, into the water, in the rivernAnd started floating down Churchill RivernInside the barrel, he came to Churchill FallsnWith Downtown (x8)nHe was a bit pissed off at the good fortune of his continue lifenYou see, he’d been making holes his whole life Hiding down insidenAnd now this one he made from his daughter’s own pick axenHe made to well, to wellnSo he took this hole of a barrelnPropped it underneath Churchill RivernLet it fill up with water from Churchill FallsnHe took his rucksack, emptied out the mining rocksnPut ‘em inside the barrelnHe took that pick axe, put it inside the barrelnHe took my sweetheart, my mama’s necklace wrapped around his wristnHe got inside that barrelnAnd he held that top of the barrel above his headnAnd the water sent him downnnYou see, there were all those people gathered aroundnTo see what this man was doing at Churchill FallsnHe was crouched down that barrelnThose mining rocks rubbing against his buttocksnThat pick axe rubbing against his groin, rubbing against his chinnAnd that iron necklace wrapped around his wristnAnd the people outside the swore they heard my father say thisnImmerse me full Fall River to deliver me my crimes nnLadies and gentlemen, nThat is the fabulous history of the Churchill Falls barrel racesnAnd to this day, the contestants of the barrel racesnFor some reason unbeknownst to themnThey must were an iron necklace around their wristnAnd the caller of the race, he doesn’t call 1, 2, 3nHe doesn’t call ready, steady, gonHe doesn’t call on your marksnBut he calls this : come on, come on, come on (x2)