Here is one I wrote a couple of years back. By the way I still work on the rigs.

BLACK, BLACK GOLD

It's a cold, grey winter's morning
The weather's turning worse
As the men prepare for flying
To the oil rigs of the North
They've left behind their families
Their lovers are left alone
As the oilmen board their chopper flight
To search for the black, black gold

Chorus
The golden flare is burning bright
The turbines roar, the drillers fight
In the middle of the darkest night
You search for the black, black gold

Pull the drill string from the wellhead
And the brown mud gushes out
On the monkeyboard the roughneck
Curses, swears and shouts
As you break out miles of tubing
Your fingers numb with cold
Your bed's a distant memory
As you search for the black, black gold

Chorus

Twenty hours spent on the drill floor
Means four hours in your bed
With eyes like blood red rubies
And the ringing in your head
It's no use you complaining
You just do like your told
Cos nobody is listening
As you search for the black, black gold

Chorus

Then another trip is over
And your money's in your hand
The memory fades so quickly
With your feet upon dry land
If your lucky there's a welcome
And it sure beats on the dole
You forget the pain and the oilrig
And the search for the black, black gold.

Chorus
Chorus

Bill

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HTML line breaks added. -JoeClone 17-Jan-2001.