I tip my hat to you
In my vast white country
In my vast white country
And of the peoples before them
And of the peoples before them
Where my great-great-grandmother
Was the county's schoolteacher
Where my great-great-grandfather
Was a lumberjack on the jobsite
And where my great-grandparents
Were brave fishermen at sea
And where my grandparents
Worked the land so hard
But inside our old houses
From one ocean to the other
Through all the generations
When the weekend rolls around
We pull out the old fiddle
And to all the folk lovers
It’s to you that I tip my
To the musicians who fire up our nights
To our jig dancers who wear down the floor
To the mouth-fiddlers and accordion players
To the reels that make me tip my
To the fiddlers who can stomp the beat
To our callers who liven up the evenings
To our storytellers who keep the lore alive
To the kitchen parties I tip my
When the fiddles echo through our gatherings
We’re all together in good company
From Cap-aux-Meules to Gravelbourg
From Maillardville to Dubreuilville
Up to Saint-Paul, Alberta
We sing from Tignish, from Saint-Boniface
Even all the way to Ferland
From Plamondon to Nipissing
And over to Lac-Saint-Jean
From the Port-au-Port peninsula
Down to deep Saint-Isidore
All around Baie Sainte-Marie
To the far end of Gaspésie
Passing through Sainte-Anne-des-Chênes
Right into Acadian lands
There’s loud chatter in Bonnyville
In Chéticamp and Paquetville
And even in Hearst, Kapuskasing
And in the Évangéline Region
They’re jigging on the floors of Shédiac
Néguac and all the way to Zénon Park
From the francos of the Pays-d’en-Haut
And those living Down-Home
Now’s the time, now’s the hour for us to speak up
And so to everyone who celebrates
Our music and traditions
And to all the folk lovers
I tip my hat to you
To the musicians who fire up our nights
To our jig dancers who wear down the floor
To the mouth-fiddlers and accordion players
To the reels that make me tip my
To the fiddlers who can stomp the beat
To our callers who liven up the evenings
To our storytellers who keep the lore alive
To the kitchen parties I tip my
To the musicians who fire up our nights
To our jig dancers who wear down the floor
To the mouth-fiddlers and accordion players
To the reels that make me tip my
To the fiddlers who can stomp the beat
To our callers who liven up the evenings
To our storytellers who keep the lore alive
To the kitchen parties I tip my