The Rigs of the Time
Anonymous
La versione di Sandy Denny, da un concerto del 1972 | |
RIGS OF THE TIME No wonder that butter's a shilling a pound, See those rich farmers' daughters how they ride up and down If you ask them the reason they'll say, “Bon alas! There is a French war, and the cows have no grass.” Chorus (after each verse): Singing, honesty's all out of fashion These are the rigs of the time, Time, my boys These are the rigs of the time. Now here's to our landlord, I must bring him in, Charges tuppence a pint and yet thinks it no sin. When he do bring it in, the measure is short And the top of the pint is all covered in froth. And here's to the butcher, I must bring him in, Charges four pence a pound and yet thinks it no sin. Slaps his thumb on the scales and makes it go down He declares it's full weight yet it lacks half a pound. And here's to the baker, I must bring him in, Charges a ha'penny a loaf and yet thinks it no sin. When he do bring it in, it's no bigger than your fist And the top of the loaf has popped off with the yeast. Now here's to the tailor who skims with our clothes, And here's to the cobbler who pinches our toes, Our belly's all empty, our bodies are bare, No wonder we've reason to curse and to swear. Now the very best thing that I could find Is to toss them all up in a high gale of wind. When the wind it do blow, the balloon it would burst, And the biggest old rascal come tumbling down first. | RIGS OF THE TIME It's of an old butcher, I must bring him in. Charges four pence a pound, and thinks it no sin. Puts his thumb on the scale which makes it go down, And swears it's good weight yet it lacks half a pound. All sing... Chorus (after each verse): Honesty 's all out of fashion These are the rigs of the time Time, me boys, These are the rigs of the time Now it's next to the baker, I must bring him in. Charges tuppence a loaf and he thinks it no sin. When he do bring it in, is not bigger than your fist, And the top of the loaf is all covered in yeast All sing... Now it's next to the landlord, well I must bring him in. Charges tuppence a pint and he thinks it no sin. When he do bring it in, now the measure it is short And the top of the pot it is all covered in froth. All sing... Now the best of all plans that comes to me mind Is to set them all off in a high gale of wind And when they go up, oh, the cloud it will burst And the biggest old rascal come tumbling down first Singing... |