Testament. Copyright Ted Edwards. 1980

The whistle’s blown, I cannot stay. I’ve clocked my card. I’m on my way.
I never was, in spite of pay, into overtime.
I’ve grafted hard and earned my brass. Played hard when I’d spare time to pass.
I never could be put to grass. That would be a crime.

And if you must be damp of eye, sigh about a broken tie,
Be brief, my friends – your time is nigh, and then get out the booze.
Proceed to get inebriate. Imbibe it at a steady rate,
As I was wont, till of late. Sing happy songs, not blues.

And if my body should be found, have it planted underground,
With sword in hand, where ere I’m bound, honour to defend.
A pint of bitter I may crave, but talk of Hev’n and Hell I’ll waive
And no priest praying o’er my grave, unless that priest’s a friend

To women, loved, I’ve this to say, I never loved with feet of clay,
But honestly, in ev’ry way, until the flame burned low.
There’s not a one of you I’d swap, when passion rose up to the top.
Each one the best of any crop, and each one left a glow.

And you, my friends, through thick and thin. There’s greater bonds in kith than kin.
A luckier man there’s never been, but not without a frown.
Yes, there were troubles, you’ll recall. In turn we’d walk not quite so tall.
But back-to-back, we’d fight ‘em all, when the chips were down.

That’s it! There’s nothing more to say. The parting sadness ends the play.
Tomorrow is another day of happiness and strife.
Enjoy the smooth. Enjoy the rough. The best is all that’s good enough,
And quantity can over-stuff the quality of life