THRESHING SONG
It's all very well to have a machine
To thrash your wheat and barley clean;
To thrash it and whim it, all fit for sale,
And take it to market brisk and well.
Singing tumble dum deary, flair up Mary,
Make her old table shine.
The man who made her, he made her so well,
He made each cog and wheel to tell;
While the big wheel hums, the little 'un hums,
And the feeder sits above the drum.
There's Old Father Howard the sheaves to put,
While Old Mother Howard she does make up.
And Mary she sits and feeds all day
And Johnny he carries the straw away.
At seven o'clock we do begin,
And we usually stop about nine or ten
To have our beer and to oil her up,
Then off we go till one o'clock.
Then, after a bite and a drink all round,
The driver climbs to his box again
And, with his long whip and a shout of All right,
He drives than round till five at night.
@farm @work
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