The Rigs of the Time
Anonymous
| Original | La versione di Martin Carthy, dal disco “Out of the Cut”, 1982 |
| THE RIGS OF THE TIME No wonder that butter be a shilling a pound, Seeing the rich farmers' daughters how they ride up and down If you ask them the reason they'll say, “Oh alas! There's a French war, and the cows have no grass.” Singing, honesty's all out of fashion These are the rigs of the time, Time, my boys These are the rigs of the time. O the next is a publican, I must bring him in, He charges four pence a quart - he thinks it no sin. When he do bring it in, the measure is short: The top of the pot is popped off with the froth. 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 the very best plan that I can find Is to puff them all off in a high gale of wind And when they get up, the cloud it will burst, And the biggest old rascal come tumbling down first. Singing, honesty's all out of fashion These are the rigs of the time, Time, my boys These are the rigs of the time. | RIGS OF THE TIME No wonder that butter's nigh on a quid a pound, See the rich corporate farmers how they ride up and down. You ask them the reason, they'll say: “Bonny lass, It's the Commission in Brussels have taxed the cows' grass.” 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 Home Secretaries, I must bring 'em in With their society obedient at every turn At picking the Peach, pulls Towers to the ground, Who needs the NF when there's SPG around. Now absentee landlords, I must bring 'em in With their sky-high rents and they think it no sin. Their ceilings fall in, the walls run with slime, But they're for blacks or for Irish so no-one really minds. |
