The Cremation Of Sam Mcgee Lyrics - Personal File - Johnny Cash

The Cremation of Sam McGee 

The Cremation of Sam McGee 

(Robert W. Service) 

There are strange things done 'neath the midnight sun 

by the men who moil for gold. 

The arctic trails have their secret tales 

that would make your blood run cold. 

The northern lights have seen queer sights 

but the queerest they ever did see, 

was that night on the marge of Lake LeBarge 

I cremated Sam McGee. 

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Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee 

where the cotton blooms and blows. 

Why he left his home in the south to roam 

'round the pole, God only knows. 

He was always cold, but the land of gold 

seemed to hold him like a spell, 

though he'd often say in his homely way 

that he'd sooner live in Hell. 

On a Christmas day we were mushing our way 

over the Dawson trail. 

Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold 

it stabbed like a driven nail. 

If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze 

'til sometimes we couldn't see. 

It wasn't much fun, but the only one 

to whimper was Sam McGee. 

Photos 

And that very night while we lay packed tight 

in our robes beneath the snow, 

and the dogs were fed, and the stars o'er head 

were dancing heel and toe, 

he turns to me, and "Cap" says he 

"I'll cash in this trip, I guess. 

And if I do, I'm asking that you 

won't refuse my last request." 

Well, he looked so low that I couldn't say no, 

then he says with a sort of a moan, 

"It's the cursed cold, it's got right hold 

'til I'm chilled clean through to the bone. 

Yet tain't being dead, it's my awful dread 

of an icy grave that pains. 

So I want you to swear that foul or fair, 

you'll cremate my last remains." 

Well, a friend's last need is a thing to heed, 

so I swore I would not fail. 

We started on at the streak of dawn, 

but, God, he looked ghastly pale! 

He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day 

of his home in Tennessee, 

and before nightfall, a corpse was all 

that was left of Sam McGee. 

There wasn't a breath in that land of death, 

and I hurried on, horror driven 

With a corpse half hid, that I couldn't get rid, 

because of a promise given. 

It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say, 

"You may tax your brawn and brains, 

but you promised true, and it's up to you 

to cremate these last remains." 

Now, a promise made is a debt unpaid 

And the trail has its own stern code, 

In the days to come, though my lips were numb 

In my heart, how I cursed that load. 

In the long, long night, by the lone firelight 

While the huskiers, round in a ring 

Howled out their woes to the homeless snows 

Oh God! How I loathed the thing. 

And every day that quiet clay 

seemed to heavy and heavier grow. 

But on I went, though the dogs were spent 

and the grub was getting low. 

The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, 

but I swore I would not give in. 

And I'd often sing to the hateful thing 

and it harkened with a grin! 

Then I came to the marge of Lake LeBarge 

and a derelict there lay. 

It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice 

it was called the "Alice May". 

And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, 

And I looked at my frozen chum, 

Then "Here" said I with a sudden cry 

"is my cre-ma-tor-eum!" 

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor 

and I lit the boiler fire. 

Some coal I found that was lying around 

and I heaped the fuel higher. 

The flames just soared and the furnace roared, 

such a blaze you seldom see. 

Then I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal 

and I stuffed in Sam McGee. 

Then I made a hike, for I didn't like 

to hear him sizzle so. 

And the heavens scowled and the huskies howled 

and the wind began to blow. 

It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled 

down my cheeks, and I don't know why. 

And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak 

went streaking down the sky. 

I do not know how long in the snow 

I wrestled with grisly fear. 

But the stars were out and they danced about 

'ere again I ventured near. 

I was sick with dread, but I bravely said 

"I'll just take a peek inside. 

He's probably cooked, and it's time I looked." 

Then the door I opened wide. 

And there sat Sam, looking cold and calm 

in the heart of the furnace roar. 

He wore a smile you could see a mile, 

and he said "Please close that door! 

It's fine in here, but I greatly fear 

you'll let in the cold and storm. 

Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, 

it's the first time I've been warm." 

There are strange things done 'neath the midnight sun 

by the men who moil for gold. 

The arctic trails have their secret tales 

that would make your blood run cold. 

The northern lights have seen queer sights, 

but the queerest they ever did see 

was that night on the marge of Lake LeBarge 

I cremated Sam McGee. 

AJS 

oct97