Lyrics Rigs Of The Time - Bellowhead

Rigs Of The Time

Here’s to the baker I must bring him in
Charges tuppence a loaf and he’ll think it no sin
When he do bring it in it’s no bigger than your fist
And the top of the loaf is popped off with the yeast
And honesty’s all out of fashion
These are the rigs of the times, times me boys
These are the rigs of the times
Here’s to the butcher I must bring him in
He charges fourpence a pound and he’ll think it no sin
Slaps his hand on the scale-weight to make it go down
He swears it’s good weight when it wants half a pound
And honesty’s all out of fashion
These are the rigs of the times, times me boys
These are the rigs of the times
Here’s to the tailor who skimps on our clothes
And the shoemaker who pinches our toes
So our bellies go empty our backsides go bare
It’s no wonder we’ve reason to curse and to swear
That honesty’s all out of fashion
These are the rigs of the times, times me boys
These are the rigs of the times
Now the very best thing that the people could find
Is to huff them all up in a high gale of wind
And the wind it will blow and the cloud it will burst
And the biggest old rascal come tumbling down first
Honesty’s all out of fashion
These are the rigs of the times, times me boys
These are the rigs of the times