For completeness, here's the other one.

Mick

---

WAKEFIELD JAIL or Face The Wall

Kind friends if you listen unto my little rhyme,
A verse or two I'll try and sing to pass away the time.
It's about the Wakefield Prison I'm going to relate
The treatment that the prisoners get up to this present date.
And when they get you there they drive you to despair,
They put you in a suit of plaid and cut off all your hair,
And give you oakum for to pick, and put you through your drill,
And send you for a week on what they call the mill.

Chorus
It makes you feel so sad, when you were a suit of plaid,
And a pair of buckle shoes upon your feet.
They feed you on the best, clap a number on your chest,
And don't they tug you up so blooming nest, face the wall.

Now, every morning at half-past five the bell begins to toll,
And every prisoner has to rise his bed to fold.
There's another one rings soon after that, but for that you need not care,
There another one rings at six o'clock and to work you must prepare.
That bell is for the treadmill, they'll have you out in time,
Along with a lot more prisoners they place you in a line,
They call your names out one by one as you stand in a row,
And shout get out, to the left about, and the mill you have to go.

Chorus.

The diets they are different, and they all stand in a line,
There is number one and number two according to your time
There's a pint of skilly night and morn, as sure as I'm a sinner,
And a pint of soup three times a week, you cop that for your dinner.
You do not get so fat there on what you get to eat,
With half a pound of potatoes and a little Australian meat.
And mind that you do cop that, for they often stop your bread,
And you're sure to be reported if you chance to turn your head.

Chorus


Source: Bodleian broadside collection: Harding B 11(3501)