From Barefoot the Bootless
When I was a young man my father did say,
Summer is coming and it’s time to make hay.
And when hay is carted don’t you never fail
For to drink gaffer’s health in a pint of good ale.
Ale, Ale, Glorious Ale,
Served up in pewter it tells its own tale.
Some folk like radishes, some curleye kale,
But give I boiled parsnips and a great dish of taters
And a lump of fatty bacon
And a pint of good ale
Now our MP’s in parliament, our faith for to keep;
I hope’s now we put him there, he won’t sit and sleep.
But he’ll always get my vote if he never fail
For to keep down the price of our good English ale.
Now take all teetotallers, who drink water neat,
Well it must rot their gutses and give ’em damp feet.
But I always say that a chap can’t grow stale
On broad beans and bacon and a pint of good ale.