Songs of the Ridings
F W Moorman
Songs of the Ridings
F W Moorman
It’s hard when fowks can’t finnd their wark Wheer they’ve bin bred an’ born; When I were young I awlus thowt I’d bide ‘mong t’ roots an’ corn. But I’ve bin forced to work i’ towns, So here’s my litany: Frae Hull, an’ Halifax, an’ Hell, Gooid Lord, deliver me!
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