If you’re sailing out in November
You’d do well if you just remember
This one tip… Don’t overload your ship.
The Chippewa knew well and said
“This lake sure likes to keep her dead,”
As they often quip… “in her icy grip.”
The skies were clouded up and turning gloomy
The lake was setting up to be their doom-y
(Gitchee Gumee)
Wisconsin mill, we’re loaded down
We’re leaving port, and Cleveland bound
Aboard the ship… That we call ‘The Fitz’.

Have you fed that motley crew? I’m afraid it’s no can do.
Freezin’ rain and crashin’ wave, the main hatchway, it just gave.
Bye guys, it’s bin swell knowin’, lights out the ship is goin’
Taking crew that was brave, to a watery grave.

Does anyone around here know?
Where Gods love will get up and go
When fearsome waves… turn hours into days?
The searchers say that Whitefish Bay,
Was only fifteen miles away.
And they’d of made the trip… on a faster ship.
They might have broke up deep and then took water
But all that’s left are sons and wives and daughters
(Not the fathers)
The church bells rang out twenty-nine
For each man there, they got a chime
Aboard that ship… the one they called ‘The Fitz’

(tap dance break)

The Chippewa legend was really gloomy
About that lake that spelt the ‘Fitz’s’ doom-y
(Gitchee Gumee)
If you’re sailing out in November
You’d do well if you just remember
This one tip… Don’t overload your ship.
Don’t overload your ship.
Don’t overload your ship.
Don’t overload your ship.