| 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 |