Now I've been a farming all me days, Worse luck for me I says, For really what I undertake It never seems to pay I fills my garden every year It costs me no end for seed, But the only things that seem to flower Just them darnation weeds Chorus: For the fly was on the turmots, the jumpers on the hops The rain has spoilt me hay and corn, I shan't grown half me crops For what I plant is always dear, and what I reap is cheap I can't help grumbling now and then for farming's blooming queer. Now if I plant potaters, They're sure to get the blight. Me pigs and poultry eats I up And never turns out right. My best old 'oss have tumbled down And broke both of his knees. And now the ship (=sheep) have bin and got The foot and mouth disease. Now I've got a wife whose daily chat, 'Tis a job to keep her cool I said, "Be quiet, you. You aggrevating fool." Now I knows I shouldn't call her that For her puddings you can't beat 'em For her yearly adds to her large stock Of boys and girls to eat 'em. Source: Sung by Dave Russell, Stonehouse. Collected by Mike Yates 1980 after I sent him to record Dave. I would like to know more about the Albert Richardson version. Tradsinger
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