| 5:15 AM
|
| Snow laying all around
|
| A collier cycles home
|
| From his night shift underground
|
| Past the silent pub
|
| Primary school, workingmens club
|
| On the road from the pithead
|
| The churchyard packed
|
| With mining dead
|
| Then beneath the bridge
|
| He comes to a giant car
|
| A shroud of snow upon the roof
|
| A Mark X Jaguar
|
| He thought the man was fast asleep
|
| Silent, still and deep
|
| Both dead and cold
|
| Shot through
|
| With bullet holes
|
| The one armed bandit man
|
| Came north to fill his boots
|
| Came up from Cockneyland
|
| E-type jags and flashy suits
|
| Put your money in
|
| Pull the levers
|
| Watch them spin
|
| Cash cows in all the pubs
|
| But he preferred the new nightclubs
|
| Nineteen sixty-seven
|
| Bandit men in Birdcage heaven
|
| La dolce vita, sixty-nine
|
| All new to people of the Tyne
|
| Who knows who did what
|
| Somebody made a call
|
| They said his hands
|
| Were in the pot
|
| That he’d been skimming hauls
|
| He picks up the swag
|
| They gaily gave away
|
| Drives his giant jag
|
| Off to his big pay day
|
| The bandit man
|
| Came north to fill his boots
|
| Came up from Cockneyland
|
| E-type jags and flashy suits
|
| The bandit man
|
| Came up the Great North Road
|
| Up to Geordieland
|
| To mine
|
| The mother lode
|
| Seams blew up or cracked
|
| Black diamonds came hard won
|
| Generations toiled and hacked
|
| For a pittance and black lung
|
| Crushed by tub or stone
|
| Together
|
| And alone
|
| How the young and old
|
| Paid the price of coal
|
| Eighteen sixty-seven
|
| My angel’s gone to heaven
|
| He’ll be happy there
|
| Sunlight and sweet clean air
|
| They gather round the glass
|
| Tough hewers and crutters
|
| Child trappers and putters
|
| The little foals and half-marrows
|
| Who pushed
|
| And pulled the barrows
|
| The hod boys
|
| And the rolleywaymen
|
| 5:15 AM |