The Rigs of the Time
O, 'tis of an old butcher, I must bring him in
He charge two shillings a pound, and thinks it no sin
Slaps his thumb on the scale-weights and makes them go down,
He swears it's good weight yet it wants half a pound Singing

chorus: Honesty's all out of fashion
These are the rigs of the time,
Time, my boys
These are the rigs of the time

Now the next is a baker, I must bring him in
He charge fourpence a loaf and thinks it no sin
When he do bring it in, is not bigger than your fist,
And the top of the loaf is popped off with the ye'st, Singing

chorus:

No wonder the butter be a shilling a pound
See the little farmer's daughters, how they ride up and down
If you ask them the reason, they'll say: "Bone', alas,
There's a French war and the cows have no grass, Singing

chorus:

O the next is a publican, I must bring him in
He charge fourpence a quart, he thinks it no sin
When he do bring it in, the measure is short
The top of the pot is popped off with the froth, Singing

chorus:

Here's next to the tailor who skimps with our clothes,
And next the shoemaker who pinches our toes
We've nought in our bellies, our bodies are bare
No wonder we've reason to curse and to swear, Singing

chorus:

Now the very best plan that I can find
Is to pop them all off in a high gale of wynd
And when they get up, the cloud it will bu'st
And the biggest old rascal come tumbling down first, singing

chorus:

From Kennedy, Folkspngs of Britain and Ireland
Recorded by Cooney, The Cheese Stands Alone, Folk-Legacy
@bitching
filename[ RIGSTIME
playexe RIGSTIME
RG
===DOCUMENT BOUNDARY