| Working in the rain cutting down wood
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| Didn’t do my little brother much good
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| Lost two fingers ina chainsaw bite
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| All he does now is drink and fight
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| Sells a bit of grass hots up cars
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| Talks of travel never gets far
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| Loves his kids left his wife
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| An everyday story of country life
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| And the red brick cottage where I was born
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| Is the empty shell of a holiday home
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| Most of the year there’s no-one there
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| The village is dead and they don’t care
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| Now we live on the edge of town
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| Haven’t been back since the pub closed down
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| One man’s family pays the price
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| FOr another man’s visio of country life
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| My old man is eighty four
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| His generation won the war
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| He left the farm forever when
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| They only kept on one in ten
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| Landed gentry county snobs
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| Where were you when they lost their jobs
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| No-one marched or subsidised
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| To save a country way of life
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| Silent fields empty lanes
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| Drifting smoke distant flames
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| Picture postcard hills on fire
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| Cattle burning in funeral pyres
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| Out to graze they look so sweet
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| We hate the blood we want the meat
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| Buy me a beer I’ll take my knife
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| Cut you a slice of country life
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| If you want cheap food well here’s the deal
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| Family farms are brought to heel
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| Hammer blows of size and scale
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| Foot and mouth the final nail
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| The coffin of our English dream
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| Lies out on the village green
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| While agri-barons CAP in hand
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| Strip this green and pleasant land
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| Of meadow, woodland, hedgerow, pond
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| What remains gets built upon
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| No trains, jobs
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| No shops, no pubs
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| What went wrong
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| Country life
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| It’s a little bit of country life |