The Post Driver

The lingering loon flies over the marsh And the night bird nestles in dew, The river is cold and the winds are harsh, But what is it that goes cuhchoo? What is it that goes cuhchoo, cuhchoo? Oh, what is it that goes cuhchoo?

The rail comes up from his lushy bed And wings to the realms of blue; Wild lillies soak where the bullfrogs croak, But what is it that goes cuhchoo? What is it that goes cuhchoo, cuhchoo? Oh, what is it that goes cuhchoo?

O'er the whispering reeds the rice-hen speeds, And the meadow larks singing anew, And I know in the swail the song of the rail, But what is it that goes cuhchoo? What is it that goes cuhchoo, cuhchoo? Oh, what is it that goes cuhchoo?