The Blacksmith

I am a blacksmith by my trade, From London I came down; I am an obstinate swaggering blade, Not like some country clown.

For my anvil rings so cheerfully, My bellows they do blow, My fire beats my irons burning hot, And unto work we go, boys, go— And unto work we go.

Our master’s good, but cross him who dares, He don’t like lads who shirk; When pay-day comes we hear him say: “You’ve plied your trade right, lad, well done.” We toil by strength all through the week, Then Saturday night we’re free, To have some good cheer, tobacco and beer— And that’s when we go on the spree.