The Potato Miner

- Tom sat fer-nent the table within a smoker's chair A table pot of pra-tes and bacon quivers there The cook an apron dirty wipes the grease and clears her throat She cooks her husband dinner the children's and the goat's He smokes his pipe asunder and prods and pokes its shoot Burnt black his index finger tobacco by the root Dear wife is it not ready for the pit I have to trot the horse will soon be ready the timber and the shot Dear man move to the table the butter there just melt The pra-tes are King Edwards and tighten up your belt Tis hot and floury flavour the bacon salty rich Some milk would be a cooling or you will have a stitch Dear child come home from school now those shoes a wearing bare You scholar and a brother of fiddle and of flare Before you have your pra-tes put turf upon the light Where's dear dear sister Nancy be home before the night And Annie did you eat yet asked he a million times Not yet the lady calls out but yet she never dines The kettle purring steadily in black and iron cast A crook a blackened lever and tea for all at last Hurry up now dear dear Annie the night shift I must go Some bread some bacon sandwich the night for money sow The sound of carts a coming and following the man Oats and horse a chopping the collars and the ham Goodbye now Cook and ready now depart and bid fair due My jacket wet and dripping, tonight and on the crew Carts a pulling coal blast the horses strain and tear A fire man's instruction and all are quite aware Black sandwich square the dusty air take soda made with fruit I hope one day I'll get away and always wear a suit The night is done and Annie come to greet me on the mat Without you dear I'd not be here my life my joy my cap (1940s- West of Ireland) Ian foley- for the :Middle Of The Road Contest