Lyrics The Prospector - Michael Chapman

The Prospector

There prospector came this morning
Looking for holes in the ground
I asked him quite politely
'What on earth is going down?'
And he says 'Down in the ground
There’s a hole I think we found, my friend'
The driver, he came later
At least he hadn’t gone far
The other went to weather, following a star
And holding his heavy load
From where we were to where we are, my friend
And a farmer comes in roody faced
From a winter field
His collars up, his hat is down
His features for the shield
He’s pacing out his acres, working out the yield
My friend
The teacher she comes out from school unsteady on her feet
I wish that she would learn to drink a Whiskey not so neat
Her wayward ways force her to change
Her legs in for a seat, my friend
And the preacher, he comes in from the cold
His wisdom to disperse
And I listen to his sermon
But he’s making matters worse
From what he says we’ve got no chance
Of heaven here on earth, my friend