| Sky was black, Lord, rain came pouring down
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| Number 12 bus shuffling down Shaw Road way
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| Mules keep spinning, black-faced lifers peck the ground
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| Sun comes up like lightning over Tandle Hills grey
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| We are mill boys, stuck on the hill boys
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| Stuck in the mill boys, 'till our dying day
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| We are mill boys, stuck on the hill boys
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| Stuck in the mill boys, 'till our dying day
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| Cotton mill will get you, boy, she’ll take you to your grave
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| Tell you boy to use your head, apprentice out your days
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| You’ll end up a nothing, buy, with cotton as your trade
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| Sun comes up like lightning over Tandle Hills grey
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| We are mill boys, stuck on the hill boys
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| Stuck in the mill boys, 'till our dying day
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| We are mill boys, stuck on the hill boys
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| Stuck in the mill boys, 'till our dying day
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| It’s easy to see a poor boy’s blues
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| When he’s working every day
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| It’s harder to be there in his shoes
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| He was born to be that way |