eye on the clock I know I can guttle when I hear me shuttle go Poverty poverty knock We have to wet our own yarn by dipping it in yonder tarn It's cold and it's soggy, it makes me feel groggy And there's rats in that dirty old barn. Sometimes a shuttle flies out and gives some poor woman a clout She lies there bleeding while nobody's heeding Who's going to carry her out? The tuner should fettle my loom, but he just sits there on his bum He's always busy a-courting our Lizzie And I just can't get him e And Lizzie's so easily led, I think that he takes her to bed She used to be skinny, now look at her pinny I think it were time they were wed Oh my poor head how it sings, I should have woven three strings The threads they keep breaking, my poor heart is aching Oh God, how I wish I had wings.
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