| Oh, some do say the farmer’s best
|
| But I must needs say no
|
| If it weren’t for we poor laboring men
|
| What would the farmers do?
|
| They’d beat out all of their old stuff
|
| Until some new come in
|
| There’s never a trade in old England
|
| Like we poor laboring men
|
| Oh, some do say the baker’s best
|
| But I must needs say no
|
| If it weren’t for we poor laboring men
|
| What would the bakers do?
|
| They’d beat out all their old stuff
|
| Until some new come in
|
| There’s never a trade in old England
|
| Like we poor laboring men
|
| Oh, some do say the butcher’s best
|
| But I must needs say no
|
| If it weren’t for we poor laboring men
|
| What would the butchers do?
|
| They’d beat out all their old stuff
|
| Until some new come in
|
| There’s never a trade in old England
|
| Like we poor laboring men
|
| There’s never a trade in old England
|
| Like we poor laboring men
|
| Let every true born Englishman
|
| Lift up his flowing glass
|
| And toast each honest working man
|
| Likewise his bonny lass
|
| And when these cruel days are gone
|
| Good times will come again
|
| There’s never a trade in old England
|
| Like we poor laboring men
|
| And when these cruel days are gone
|
| There’s never a trade in old England
|
| Like we poor laboring men
|
| Like we poor laboring men
|
| And when these cruel days are gone
|
| Good times will come again
|
| Good times will come again
|
| There’s never a trade in old England
|
| There’s never a trade in old England |