Lyrics:
There's many
a task for the English folk,
And a man's
a man always,
Who delves
the coal and iron ore,
And shapes
the potters' clay.
For this is
the song of the Staffordshire men,
In forge, in
kiln, in mine.
Our fires
shall burn, and our mill-wheels turn
And the Knot
shall be our sign.
There are
forty shires that light their fires,
And bless
the iron strong,
And the
china bake the potters make,
As they sing
the Stafford song.
We come of a
race of yeomen bold,
Whose drink
is the best of beer;
Our fields
feed beasts for the Christmas feast
And you may
share our Staffordshire cheer.
We marshal
our ranks on the grey pit banks
And our lads
on the football field,
If the cause
be right, we are game to fight,
We never
were known to yield.
From Jon Raven's album The Ballad of the Black
Country, a tribute to the county which may not be England's most picturesque,
but has always been the most honest and down to earth. (Historically, the Black Country was actually
divided between Staffordshire and Worcestershire, and is now part of the
administrative county of the West Midlands). The English
culture at it's finest.
Sem comentários:
Enviar um comentário