With old Henry Knox we marched past river and rocks.
Twas 75 and Redcoats had to die.
So over them mountains came my Cannon and I.
The winter set my body to freeze and the cord cut through flesh with ease
As we marched on to Boston.
The rope burns my hands and the ice bites my feet
Frost bit feet and rope burned hand
But when we win, hell, will it be grand.
Them Redcoats thought no threat would e'er come nigh.
But look up high 'cause here come I. With cannon to make the Redcoat die.
With my frost bit feet and my rope burned hand.
And when we take to Boston, hell, but it will be grand.