EVESHAM CIDER (presumed Title)

My native roots are cankered along the Avon Vale
There's poison in each tankard and the scrumpy makes them pale
All along that pleasant valley where the vegetables grow fine
Men raise the Devil's chalice and drink his bitter wine

Unspeakable carouses that fill our hearts with shame
Take place in certain houses that cannot here be named
Black timber and white plaster hide the secret drinking dens
Where Beelzebub is master of the cider drinking men

But in spite of church and chapel ungodly folk there be
Who pluck the cider apple from the cider apple tree
They crush it in their presses till all the juice runs out
At various addresses that nobody knows about

But if my time suffices until my days are done
I'll go back and share those vices of dear old Evesham
I'll watch the red sun sinking behind those Malvern Hills
For we knows it's better medicine than all those bloody pills

words written by Ted Amphlett
as remembered by Tony Lloyd, regular at the Nags Tail FC in Malvern.
FC now closed.

If you give me an e-mail address (via 'Cat personal messages) I might be able to put one verse into .MP3 format. I don't guarrantee that the folk process doesn't add to the tune!