Eg veit i himmer i kaj borg,
Oskin som sol i klare,
Der er ikkje synder eller sorg,
Der er ikkje gråt og tåre.
My name is
Ambrose
Larson
From the
Bergen shore I've come
I've been cheated for my wages
Couldn't speak the native tongue
My wi fe and child are terrified
Of these
Midwestern storms
But we settle down in
Lime
Creek
Next to
Jim
Coon, his farm.
The blackbirds and the locusts
Destroyed our corn and wheat.
The hawks they ate the chickens,
the wolves or mutton meat
With traps and clothes and shotguns load,
we fought this all while ground
Our children caught a fever,
but now doctors they're around
American
Primitive
Man,
American
Primitive
Man
Norway
Bible in my hand,
Ame rican
Primitive
Man
I married
Bridget
O'Malley, she's
Grace
O'Malley's kin
That pirate queen from the
Isle of
Clare who led two hundred men
Invincible on land and sea was the
O'Malley cry
Her spi rits in my children's blood,
they'll prosper here or die
I learned to plow a decent row,
make candles, knives and gloves
And how to balance misery with
Go d's eternal love
Cooney taught me whiskey craft
and when hardships are extreme
Jim and
I, we ta ke a sip and
disappear in dreams
American
Primitive
Man,
American
Primitive
Land
Bought my share of the promised land,
Ame rican
Primitive
Man
American
Primitive
Man,
American
Primitive
Land
Norway
Bible in my hand,
American primitive man