""You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille With four hungry children and a crop in the field. I've had some bad times, Lived through some sad times, This time the hurtin' won't heal. You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille.'
One piece of logging equipment around here over the years, got to be called Lucille, 'cause she picked the damnedest times to go on a pout. One of the greatest days was when scrap got to 350 a ton and the Lucille went to the scrap yard.
Well this is a fine pickle we're in, should'a listened to Joe McCarthy and George Orwell I guess.
