(:redirect quiet=1:) %abc-2.1 X:1 T:The Collier Lad Z:Webmaster C:Johnny Handle N:Folk N:Work M:4/4 L:1/4
K:C W:ch W:Oh the collier lad he's a canny lad, W:Ans he's always of good cheer, W:And he knaas how t' work, and he knaas how t' shirk, W:And he knaas how t' sup good beer. W: W:1 W:Well it's down the shaft on a Monday morn and the kavils it's the best, W:In the Burstin' Seam wi' Thompson's team in a flat called the fourteenth west. W:Now the face is a hundred and five yards lang when measured from nook te nook, W:And when crawlin' o'er the scuttlin's lads, keep doon or your sure t' get stuck. W: W:2 W:Well the shots gan off and the shuttles they fly till the belt gets loaded full, W:Till in half an hoor a lump gans on and the motor will not pull; W:"Brokken belt", is the cry and we all crawled out till the mother gets it a mend, W:Geordie Haal, he's the deppity in wor flat, says, "Ye'll drive us roond the bend". W: W:3 W:So we pull and we strain for t' fix it again, and when it's been put straight, W:Tim Jones, that's the secretary of wor lodge, says, "It's time that ye had wor bait". W:So we tyek ourselves t' a quiet spot, with a plank and a chock for a seat, W:And the crack, at last, flies thick and fast at the do'in's at the club last meet. W: W:4 W:But it's very hard when you're paid by the yard for t' tek lang all your bait, W:So we crawl back on, get some timberin' done, for the belts that can hardly wait. W:For it's twenty-six inches high, me lads, and the work is really grand, W:And the filler's pay, four quid a day, it's the best in all the land.
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