As I sit down at my table clasp my hands and bow my head
      D             G               D               G
Should I thank our heavenly landlord for my daily crust of bread
          D                G             C
When the hunters in his stable & the hounds in his pack
          D             G            D             G
Get the pickings of the harvest on which I break my back
       D                G          C               D

And it feels like winter , spit to eat and hell to pay
       G          D                G               D
And it feels like Reynardine on Boxing Day
       G          D            C      D

From Robb's book - Words and Chords - Irregular Records 2000