Lingua   

Treadmill Song (or Gaol Song)‎

Ewan MacColl
Lingua: Inglese



‎“Step in, young man, I know your face,
It's nothing in your favour.
A little time I'll give to you:
Six months unto hard labour.”‎

To me Hip! fol the day, Hip! fol the day,
To me Hip! fol the day, fol the digee, oh!‎

At six o'clock our turnkey comes in,
With a bunch of keys all in his hand.
‎“Come, come, my lads, step up and grind.
Tread the wheel till breakfast time.”‎

To me Hip! fol the day, Hip! fol the day,
To me Hip! fol the day, fol the digee, oh!‎

At eight o'clock our skilly comes in,
Sometimes thick and sometimes thin,
But devil a word we must not say
Or it's bread and water all next day.‎

To me Hip! fol the day, Hip! fol the day,
To me Hip! fol the day, fol the digee, oh!‎

At half past eight the bell doth ring.
Into the chapel we must swing,
Down on our bended knees to fall.
The Lord have mercy on us all.‎

To me Hip! fol the day, Hip! fol the day,
To me Hip! fol the day, fol the digee, oh!‎

At nine o'clock the jangle rings.
All on the trap, boys, we must spring.
‎“Come, come, my lads, step up in time,
The wheel to tread and the corn to grind.”‎

To me Hip! fol the day, Hip! fol the day,
To me Hip! fol the day, fol the digee, oh!‎

Now Saturday's come, I'm sorry to say,
Sunday is our starvation day.
Our hobnail boots and tin mugs too,
They are not shined nor they will not do.‎

To me Hip! fol the day, Hip! fol the day,
To me Hip! fol the day, fol the digee, oh!‎

Now six long months are over and past,
And I will return to my bonny, bonny lass.
I'll leave them turnkeys all behind,
The wheel to tread and the corn to grind.‎

To me Hip! fol the day, Hip! fol the day,
To me Hip! fol the day, fol the digee, oh!‎


Pagina principale CCG

Segnalate eventuali errori nei testi o nei commenti a antiwarsongs@gmail.com




hosted by inventati.org