当前位置:首页 > 歌词大全 > Treadmill Song歌词
  • 作词 : Traditional
    Traditional
    Step in young man I know your face
    It's nothing in your favour
    A little time I'll give to you
    Six months unto hard labour
    At six o'clock the screw comes in
    A bunch of keys all in his hand
    Step up my lads, step up in time
    And tread the wheel till breakfast time
    And at eight o'clock the skilly comes in
    It's sometimes thick and it's sometimes thin
    And never a word dare we all say
    Or it's bread and water all next day
    At half past eight the bell do ring
    And off to the chapel boys we must swing
    Down on our bended knees we fall
    The Lord have mercy on us all
    And at nine o'clock the jangle ring
    And all on the trap boys we must spring
    Step up my lads, step up in time
    The wheel's to tread and the corn's to grind
    Now Saturday's come I am sorry to say
    For Sunday is starvation day
    Our hob-nail boots and our tin mugs too
    They are not shined and they will not do
    When six long months are gone and past
    Then I'll return to my bonny, bonny lass
    I'll leave the turnkeys all behind
    The wheel to tread and the corn to grind
  • 作词 : Traditional
    Traditional
    Step in young man I know your face
    It's nothing in your favour
    A little time I'll give to you
    Six months unto hard labour
    At six o'clock the screw comes in
    A bunch of keys all in his hand
    Step up my lads, step up in time
    And tread the wheel till breakfast time
    And at eight o'clock the skilly comes in
    It's sometimes thick and it's sometimes thin
    And never a word dare we all say
    Or it's bread and water all next day
    At half past eight the bell do ring
    And off to the chapel boys we must swing
    Down on our bended knees we fall
    The Lord have mercy on us all
    And at nine o'clock the jangle ring
    And all on the trap boys we must spring
    Step up my lads, step up in time
    The wheel's to tread and the corn's to grind
    Now Saturday's come I am sorry to say
    For Sunday is starvation day
    Our hob-nail boots and our tin mugs too
    They are not shined and they will not do
    When six long months are gone and past
    Then I'll return to my bonny, bonny lass
    I'll leave the turnkeys all behind
    The wheel to tread and the corn to grind