CHORUS:
Poverty, poverty, knock! Me loom is a-sayin’ all day,
Poverty, poverty, knock! Gaffer’s too skinny to pay,
Poverty, poverty, knock! Keepin’ one eye on the clock,
I know I can guttle, When I hear my shuttle go
Poverty, poverty, knock!
Up every morning at five,
I wonder that we keep alive,
Tired and yawnin’, on the cold morning,
It’s back to the dreary old drive.
Oh dear, we’re going to be late,
Gaffer is stood at the gate,
We’re out of pocket, our wages they’re docket,
We’ll have to buy grub on the slate.
And when our wages they bring,
We’re often short of a string,
While we are a-fratching with Gaffer snatching,
We know to his brass he will cling.
We’ve got to wet our own yarn,
By dipping it into the tarn,
It’s wet and soggy, and makes me feel groggy,
And there’s mice in that dirty old barn.
Oh dear, my poor head it sings.
I should have woven three strings,
But threads are breaking and my back is aching,
Oh dear, I wish I had wings.
Sometimes a shuttle flies out,
And gives some poor woman a clout,
There she lies bleeding, but nobody’s heeding,
Who’s going to carry her out?
Turner should tackle me loom.
He’d rather sit on his bum.
He’s far to busy, courting our Lizzie,
I cannot get him to come.
Lizzie is so easily led.
All think that he takes her to bed.
She always was skinny, now look at her pinny,
It’s about time they was wed.