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