| Oh early in the morning, 'fore the sun rise
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| They get outta bed an' open their eyes
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| With dirty old trousers in browns an' blacks
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| They pick up their tools and pick up their axe
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| Say way oh, the dust it blows
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| Say way oh, the dust it blows
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| They march down that road, to Stilton’s old mine
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| Just like their elders, when the wages were fine
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| But Stilton’s long gone, and so is his grace
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| Now ain’t no one happy in this miserable place
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| Say way oh, the silver it glows
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| Say way oh, the silver it glows
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| Down underground, it’s dark and it’s cold
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| They don’t get no breaks, they do as they’re told
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| The dust crews get down on their hands and knees
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| To do anything that angry foreman please
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| Say way oh, the dust it blows
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| Say way oh, the silver it glows
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| But the foreman he’s under the Duke’s greedy thumb
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| Makin' them miners work till they’re numb
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| They pull out that silver and make that man rich
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| And come home broken, face black as pitch
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| Say way oh, the dust it blows
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| Say way oh, the silver it glows
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| An' up in that palace, where the greedy Duke hides
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| there's riches and treasures he ne'er divides
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| But down in Batista, a dirty wind blows
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| The stews are thin and there's rags for clothes
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| Oh the Dust District, she's a terrible place
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| Put a limp in yer walk, and a scowl on yer face
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| when the miners come back with pittance for pay
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| Makes you wonder why the e'en get up the next day
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| Say way oh, the dust it blows
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| Say way oh the silver it glows
|
| Say way oh, the dust it blows
|
| Say way oh the silver it glows |