Sala & The Strage Sounds se pasean por el folk canadiense

Ante la inminente llegada del nuevo trabajo de Sala & The Strage Sounds en el día de hoy la banda se ha desmarcado trayendo bajo el brazo una versión del tema de folk canadiense “The Black Fly Song“, una canción que compuso en 1949 Wade Hemsworth.

Letra:

‘Twas early in the spring when I decide to go
For to work up in the woods in North Ontar-i-o;
And the unemployment office said they’d send me through
To the Little Abitibi with the survey crew
And the black flies, the little black flies,
Always the black fly no matter where you go;
I’ll die with the black fly a-pickin’ my bones,
In North Ontar-i-o-i-o, in North Ontar-i-o.

And the man Black Tobey was the captain of the crew
And he said, I’m gonna tell you boys, what we’re gonna do:
They want to build a power dam; we must find a way
For to make the Little Ab flow around the other way
With the black flies, the little black flies,
Always the black fly no matter where you go;
I’ll die with the black fly a-pickin’ my bones,
In North Ontar-i-o-i-o, in North Ontar-i-o.

So we survey to the east, survey to the west,
Couldn’t make our minds up how to do it best;
Little Ab, Little Ab, what shall I do?
I’m all but goin’ crazy with the survey crew
And the black flies, the little black flies,
Always the black fly no matter where you go;
I’ll die with the black fly a-pickin’ my bones,
In North Ontar-i-o-i-o, in North Ontar-i-o.

It was blackfly, blackfly, everywhere,
A-crawlin’ in your whiskers, crawlin’ in your hair;
Swimmin’ in the soup, swimmin’ in the tea,
And the devil take the blackfly, let me be.
Black flies, the little black flies,
Always the black fly no matter where you go;
I’ll die with the black fly a-pickin’ my bones,
In North Ontar-i-o-i-o, in North Ontar-i-o.

Black Tobey fell to swearin’; the work went slow,
The state of our morale was a-gettin’ pretty low;
The flies swarmed heavy; hard to catch your breath,
As you staggered up and down the trail a-talkin’ to yourself
With the black flies, the little black flies,
Always the black fly no matter where you go;
I’ll die with the black fly a-pickin’ my bones,
In North Ontar-i-o-i-o, in North Ontar-i-o.

Well now, the bull cook’s name was Blind River Joe,
If it hadn’t been for him we’d ‘ve never pulled through;
‘Cause he bound up our bruises and he kidded us for fun,
And he lathered us with bacon grease and balsam gum.
And the black flies, the little black flies,
Always the black fly no matter where you go;
I’ll die with the black fly a-pickin’ my bones,
In North Ontar-i-o-i-o, in North Ontar-i-o.

And at last the job was over; Black Tobey said we’re through
With the Little Abitibi and the survey crew!
‘Twas a wonderful experience and this I know:
I’ll never go again to North Ontar-i-o
With the black flies, the little black flies,
Always the black fly no matter where you go;
I’ll die with the black fly a-pickin’ my bones,
In North Ontar-i-o-i-o, in North Ontar-i-o.

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