Fair toil, fair wage, I reckoned so,
then said the man, \"You gotta go!\"
No jobs no more, no picks to swing,
swingin\' for nowt, helluva thing.
\"What now?\" I asked. \"Ask not,\" he said,
\"ain\'t nothin\' here \'tis all been bled.
What dreams thar was in them thar hills,
nowt left but scars an\' unpaid bills.\"
Too late the man of honest ways;
too late to hail the good old days.
What we deserved, \'twas stole an\' spent
by faceless men on riches bent.
But fools we were, we bought the dream,
then sucked us dry of self-esteem.
Bankers, barons, all pomp an’ dash
in pinstripe suits an\' wads of cash.
Don\' bust our bones and conned our dreams,
wrecked our turf with them damn machines.
They dug an\' dug down to the core;
don\' bled us dry an\' wanted more.
A changin\' wind, I hear folk say;
twistin\', turnin\', headin\' this way.
The Serpent, aye; the Holy Ghost,
them\'s the ones that we fear the most.
On high ye bound or down below,
when speaks the Man, you\'ll surely know.
\'Twill matter not, don\' had yer say,
come face yerself, come Judgment Day.
Down the creek don\' a got baptized,
don\' cleaned up good, all sanitized.
Forgiven too, \'tis sure divine.
\"Hey brother, can you spare a dime.\"