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It's like a thousand years ago I first left out me pen.
With brogan boots and wrinkled coat I went to join the men.
For one and six a day we worked and broke our backs
Pulling fields of lint to make the Fincairn flax.

CHORUS: We wash our hands and faces and we disinfect our clothes.
We scrub behind our kneecaps and we clean between our toes.
We douse our hair with hair oil and run it down our backs
But sure as hell you still can smell the Fincairn flax.

We steeped it and we spread it and we dried it in the sun,
And we lifted it and tied it and the work was never done.
We only wanted rest, for we were dropping in our tracks,
But the ladies wanted hankies made of Fincairn flax. CHORUS

Well, our hands were cut and blistered, our knees were all in red,
And the achin' in our muscles, ah, you might as well be dead.
But the farmer stood and glowered as we built the linten stacks
And he thought about the money from the Fincairn flax. CHORUS

And when we meet St. Peter, he'll say, "Come right through,
For it's pointless giving penance to a man who worked liked you.
To ask you to do penance is too ask you to relax,
For hell is fun compared with working Fincairn flax." CHORUS