[Intro - Rhythmic, heavy stomps and claps like a marching army, building in volume] [Verse 1] The Earl was sitting in his hall, a-polishing his crown, While the peasants tilled the stony soil until the sun went down. No lunch break for the weary, no "Time-and-a-half" on feast days, Just a kick from a muddy leather boot and the Lord’s oppressive ways. But Kev, he stood upon his mower, his hi-vis shining bright, He said, "I’ve seen the future, lads, and this simply isn't right! You’re working eighty hours a week for a bowl of turnip stew, It’s time we showed this velvet-wearing berk what we can do!" [beat drop - a sudden, loud collective shout of "HOY!"] [Chorus - Powerful, chanting unison vocals] So put your pitchforks in the dirt and leave the harvest be, We’re forming up a union for the local peasantry! Kev’s the shop steward now, with a clipboard and a plan, Demand a forty-hour week for every working man! (And the women too!) From the manor to the mill-stream, we’re walking off the job, The King can’t mow his own front lawn, the lazy, royal nob! [Verse 2 - Dense, quick-fire delivery with witty metaphors] He drafted up a contract with a quill and a bit of grease, "Clause one: A statutory holiday to give us all some peace. Clause two: A dental plan that doesn't involve a rusty nail, And clause three: Every Friday we get a gallon of the ale!" The Bishop called it heresy, the Sheriff called it "strange," But Kev just leaned against his deck and checked his pocket change. "I’ve got the keys to the engine, lads, I’ve got the only spark, If you want the palace grass trimmed, don't leave me in the dark!" [Short, punchy harmonica solo] [Verse 3 - Darkly humorous and narrative] The Lord sent out his men-at-arms to break the picket line, But Kev had parked the Grasmere where the sun don't ever shine. He blocked the only drawbridge with a "Work In Progress" sign, And told the knights their armor didn't meet the safety line! "Where’s your ear defenders, mate? Where’s your steel-toed boots? You can't arrest a union man for protecting his own roots!" The horses got the spooks again from the idling diesel hum, While the peasants sang a protest song and beat a hollow drum. [pause] (That's a breach of regulation, that is!) [pause] [Bridge - Slow, building stomp-and-clap] The Earl looked out the window, saw his garden growing wild, The weeds were getting taller than his youngest noble child. The dandelions were taking over, the hedges looked a mess, He realized he was beaten by a man in neon dress. [Chorus - Final, most energetic rendition] So put your pitchforks in the dirt and leave the harvest be, We’re forming up a union for the local peasantry! Kev’s the shop steward now, with a clipboard and a plan, Demand a forty-hour week for every working man! From the manor to the mill-stream, we’re walking off the job, The King can’t mow his own front lawn, the lazy, royal nob! [Outro - Fading out with a cheeky, defiant tone] Proper job, lads. Now, who’s got the biscuits? I’m on my fifteen-minute tea break. See you dreckly. [Sound of a mower engine sputtering and stopping] [End]
