George cuts down woods with a crew.
Stand of fine pine—gonna hew.
George has some men who can cut
till not a pole up juts.

The logs crash down where once thrived
a large lot that was alive.
George cuts down woods with a crew.
Stand of fine pine. . .onto yew.

Garden-like it was once there;
now all the hillsides are bare.
A site with yew now is bleak;
there are no burls left to seek.
The chainsaws’ squeal has appeal
to George, who has cut a deal:
score all the wood with his crew
Stand of fine pine. . .say “adieu!”

They cut like crazy, just like a beetle blight;
these guys ain’t lazy—they’re working day and night;
they cut like crazy—nothing gets in the way.
Those pretty bay trees are coming down today;
Those pretty bay trees must get out of the way.
They’re gonna cut yew, bay trees, rend and cut slews

George cuts down woods, makes a view.
Stand of fine pine—it’s “adieu.”
George has some men who can cut
till naught but holes and ruts.

The logs crash down, once alive—
rotten scrub brush to thrive.
George cuts down woods with a crew.
Stand of fine pine. . .onto yew.

They cut like crazy with chainsaw teeth that bite;
these guys ain’t lazy—they’re working day and night.
They cut like crazy—nothing is gonna stay.
Those pretty bay trees are gone—it’s such a waste:
the Are-Gone Forest, what they now call this place.
Those pretty great trees must get cut right away.