Oh dear me, the mills are running fast,
And we poor shifters canna get no rest.
Shifting bobbins coarse and fine
They fairly make you work for your ten and nine.
Oh dear me, I wish the day was done,
Running up and down the bank it is nae fun.
Shifting piece and spinning work, warp weft and twine
There’s no much pleasure living off of ten and nine.
Oh dear me, the world is ill divided:
Them that works the hardest are the least provided.
But I must lie contented dark days or fine,
To feed and clothe my babies off of ten and nine.