Come listen, and I’ll tell a tale
Of hardy canyoneers
That breed of men, the river rats
Who live without the fears
Of common, ordinary men
Whose worries sure are small
Compared to those who flirt with death
Within that high, grey wall

What’s in a man to make him thirst
For the kind of life he knows is cursed?
He’ll die a lonely river rat
Foolhardy canyoneer

Do you ever wonder what you’d do when all the chips were down?
If you doubt you’d do what a man would do when danger comes around?
Then take the test to provе the case, to see if courage calls
As waves leap thirty feet or more on the trip through Lava Falls

What’s in a man to make him thirst
For the kind of life he knows is cursed?
He’ll die a lonely river rat
Foolhardy canyoneer

At night, at rest on a rocky beach, he hears a hairy sigh
Of the lonely phantom of the gorge whose mournful voices cry
“Although we ran the rapids wild, and with our lives did pay
We welcome you, you Canyoneers, who come this dismal way.”

What’s in a man to make him thirst
For the kind of life he knows is cursed?
He’ll die a lonely river rat
Foolhardy canyoneer