I used to sing this when I was with Crayfolk in the early 70's.

The lyrics are correct as far as they go but they're incomplete. The song continues.....

When we has our Saturday folk club upstairs
I likes to oblige with a song
And if I'm invited werll I'm quite delighted
To take me old guitar along
Well he takes just one look as I walks in the door
And says "Sorry, no hippies in here"
Which offended I slightly so very politely
I fetched him a thump round the ear
Well it cost me ten quid in the Magistrates court
And some hasty remarks from the Beak
But the landlord's black eye makes I laugh 'till I cry
Though there won't be no folk club next week.

Well he don't want our custom and he don't want our trade
There's no profit in serving the locals
It's those with big cars that he wants in his bars
He refers to us as "they damn' yokels"
You can see by his grins and the size of his chins
He imagines that he is in clover
But we're hanging on 'til the tourists have gone
And the holiday season is over.
Well we sits in his bar on a Saturday night
'Cos there's nowhere to drink if we don't
But if you think we're going to see him through the winter
You've got it! We bloody well won't.