This always reminds me of great nights at The Burnt Post, Coventry.

Local singer Des Patalong used to sing this song, and all the naughty boys at the back used to hop up and down on one leg in time with it. Des was not amused, but he kept doing it, and the lads kept hopping.

I can't listen to it now without images of hopping, and the real meaning has become lost.

Aahh. The folk process.