Roger Rough

I’m Roger Rough, a ploughman,
A ploughman’s son am I,
And like my thirsty father,
My throttle’s always dry;
Let the world go wrong, to me ’tis right,
Why need I interfere?
For I works an’ I sings from morn till night,
And then I drinks my beer;
For I likes a drop of good beer, I does,
I am fond of a drop of good beer, I is.
So let gentlemen fine sit down to their wine,
But I likes a drop of good beer, I does.

There’s Sarah, that’s my wife, sir,
She likes beer as well as me,
She’s the happiest woman in life, sir,
Ah, as happy as woman can be:
She does her work, takes care of the bairns,
No gossiping neighbors near,
But as every Saturday night returns,
Like me, Sall drinks her beer.
For she likes a drop of good beer, she does…

So, lads, need no persuasion,
But fill your glasses round.
We’ll never fear invasion
While the barley grows in the ground;
Let discord cease and joy increase
With every coming year,
Possessed of these and blessed with peace,
Why, we’ll sing and we’ll drink our beer.
For we likes a drop of good beer, we does…