We are the bold trespassing lads and lasses, o so free
Who dare to walk in places where we're told we shouldn't be
Where there's fences round the forests, where the beach is out of bounds
Where the walls are rising round the fields that once were common ground
Where the keeper's hand lies heavy and he tells you with a strut
That thе moors were made for shooting so thе countryside is shut
We will make this oath and proudly quoth that 'Beauty is for all!'
We will find a gap in every hedge, a hole in every wall
Our fathers sold their boots for coal or burned them for the dead
While our mothers worked their weary limbs into their boss's bread
Though we were born on smoky morns on streets that knew no sun
The green hill wasn't far away, just waiting to be won
From the mountains of Snowdonia to the waters of the Broads
From the lonely hills of Lakeland to the West Country tors
There's a treasury from sea to sea of fell and field and plain
And the warbling woods are waiting for to welcome us again
Last night I dreamed I met Lord Bug upon the burning moor
Said he 'this land belongs to me, you are breaking the law'
'How came you by it, sir?' I cried, and he replied in awe
That his father's father's father's father's father's father's father's father won it in a war!
'Well, if that be true, my Lord,' I said, I gave a tidy bow
'Then by the same such logic, sir, I'll fight you for it now!'
Our lungs are full, our lives are young and we will not be still
We are the feet of England and we're headed for the hill
Who dare to walk in places where we're told we shouldn't be
Where there's fences round the forests, where the beach is out of bounds
Where the walls are rising round the fields that once were common ground
Where the keeper's hand lies heavy and he tells you with a strut
That thе moors were made for shooting so thе countryside is shut
We will make this oath and proudly quoth that 'Beauty is for all!'
We will find a gap in every hedge, a hole in every wall
Our fathers sold their boots for coal or burned them for the dead
While our mothers worked their weary limbs into their boss's bread
Though we were born on smoky morns on streets that knew no sun
The green hill wasn't far away, just waiting to be won
From the mountains of Snowdonia to the waters of the Broads
From the lonely hills of Lakeland to the West Country tors
There's a treasury from sea to sea of fell and field and plain
And the warbling woods are waiting for to welcome us again
Last night I dreamed I met Lord Bug upon the burning moor
Said he 'this land belongs to me, you are breaking the law'
'How came you by it, sir?' I cried, and he replied in awe
That his father's father's father's father's father's father's father's father won it in a war!
'Well, if that be true, my Lord,' I said, I gave a tidy bow
'Then by the same such logic, sir, I'll fight you for it now!'
Our lungs are full, our lives are young and we will not be still
We are the feet of England and we're headed for the hill
envoyé par Dq82 - 21/8/2024 - 12:22
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tiny notes
Trespassers is the last of the 17 songs written for our theatre show The Ballad of Johnny Longstaff. It’s the story of Johnny’s participation in acts of civil disobedience in the 1930s to advocate the Right to Roam – that ‘the right of walking was free’. The most famous trespass took place at Kinder Scout, Derbyshire in April 1932 and led, eventually, to the creation of the National Parks.
Any Bread? - Carrying the Coffin - Hostel Strike - Cable Street - Robson’s Song - Ta-Ra to Tooting - Noddy - The Great Tomorrow - Ay Carmela - Paella - No Hay Pan - Trench Tales - Lewis Clive - David Guest - Over the Ebro - The Valley of Jarama - Trespassers (da tiny notes)