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Hard Times.

Come all ye good people, I'll song you a song, Concerning hard times, but it's not very long, Since everybody is trying to buy Cheat their own neighbors and take a delight.

                                                     And it's hard times.

Here's the blacksmith that lives by the sweat of his brow, Likewise the farmer, by following the plough, They think themselves honest, in their own conceit, And cheat one and another by measure and weight.

                                                     And it's hard times.

Here is the baker, lives by the bread that he eats, And so does the butcher by selling his meats; They tip up their stilyards to make it weigh down, They will swear its good weight, if it lacks ten pound.

                                                     And its hard times.

Here is the cook that cooks for us all, She is always complaining her skillet's too small. For us she will cook, and to us she will talk, Cares more for the skillet than she docs for the flock.

                                                      And its hard times.

Here is the bricklayer, he tries to do good, He will stir up his fire and burn up his wood