Get the rocks in the box
|
Get the water right down to your socks
|
This bulkhead's built of fallen brethren bones
|
We all do what we can
|
We endure our fellow man
|
And we sing our songs to the headframe's creaks and moans
|
And it's one, two, three
|
On the wrong side of the lee
|
What were you meant for?
|
What were you meant for?
|
And it's seven, eight, nine
|
You get your shuffle back in line
|
And if you ever make it to ten, you won't make it again
|
And if you ever make it to ten, you won't make it again
|
And you won't make a dime
|
On this gray Granite Mountain Mine
|
Of dirt you’re made and to dirt you will return
|
So while we're living here
|
Let's get this little one thing clear
|
There’s plenty of men to die; |
you don't jump your turn
|
And it's one, two, three
|
On the wrong side of the lee
|
What were you meant for?
|
What were you meant for?
|
And it's seven, eight, nine
|
You get your shuffle back in line
|
And if you ever make it to ten, you won't make it again
|
And if you ever make it to ten, you won't make it again
|
And it's one, two, three
|
On the wrong side of the lee
|
What were you meant for?
|
Whatever you're meant for.
|
And it's seven, eight, nine
|
You get your shuffle back in line
|
And if you ever make it to ten, you won't make it again
|
And if you ever make it to ten, you won't make it again
|
And if you ever make it to ten, you won't make it again |