Oh, we made you out of two soup cans, cob, and a maple syrup cask,
We scorned to hear the disbeliev'rs who said it'd never last––
But you burned too hot and you burned too fast,
how you scorched up our pan's bottoms,
So we begged two more cans and a fine wire rack
from folks what had got 'em
We extended your chimney, we extended the place
where we fed you your oakwood––
When all them asked just how y'now worked,
we could smile and say "Right good"
We accepted your caked creosote, and we loved you for your power,
But now the north wind blows and it seems to be
our fair-weather romance has gone sour––
You've stood October rain and you've stood the wind better than most I know've,
But now the time has come when I've got to say
I'd trade you in for a Franklin stove