(To be sung initially with a slow, grinding tone, perhaps followed by a rowdy cheer.) (Origins) The Saxon kept a thrall, and the Roman kept a slave, They locked them up in darkness, or they threw them in a grave! But the Norman lord he taught us a new and clever game, Where you're bound to soil and service, yet you call yourself by name! (Chorus) You can't tell a Serf from a Slave, You can't tell a Knight from a Knave! But King Jimmy came down South with a grin, And tossed all that nonsense right out in the bin! (Rousing Chorus:) Death to the Old Ways! (Chorus - To be sung fast, loud, and with tankards banging on the table!) So raise your glass to Death's cold, black hand! For he cleared the soil of the common land! With a cough and a shroud, the Lords lost the game, And found their serfs demanding a wage for their name! Wat Tyler raised his axe, Wat Tyler lost his head! But the old laws are dead! The old laws are dead! We're free of the Glebe! We're free of the Lord! Pass the ale 'round, boys, and draw the next chord! (War) Now the Lords found their farms growing quiet and thin, While the Black Death paid a wage that was sinful! The French King called us out, King Edward called the troops, The feudal bond was useless, so the King called out the loops! They didn't want a serf with a pitchfork in his hand, They wanted archers paid to fight in a foreign land! They gave a shilling a day for the man who could shoot straight, For Agincourt was won by wage, not by feudal estate! (Irony) We shook off the shackles of toil on the Glebe, But the rich found new tricks that they thought we'd believe! The Lords found the wool trade was fatter than wheat, So they kicked us from the commons right out to the street! They threw up the hedgerows where we grazed the family cow, Said, "You're free of the manor, but get out of here now!" No wages for the worker, no rights in the sun, Free to starve on the King's highway till our short life is done! (Repeat Chorus) So raise your glass to Death's cold, black hand! For he cleared the soil of the common land! With a cough and a shroud, the Lords lost the game, And found their serfs demanding a wage for their name! Wat Tyler raised his axe, Wat Tyler lost his head! But the old laws are dead! The old laws are dead! We're free of the Glebe! We're free of the Lord! Pass the ale 'round, boys, and draw the next chord! (Conclusion) Now the system was broken, the nobles cried foul, While the common man suffered beneath the moon's howl. Then that bonnie lad James, the Sixth and the First, Rode down from the North, putting Parliament accursed! He said, "The old contracts? The tenures? A shame! They clog up the lawyers and make England lame! Forget ancient bonds! Forget fealty and sword! Now it's only Cash, King, and the Landlord's hard word!" So toast to King Jimmy, you Scot, you great wit! You finished the system the Plague merely hit! Raise your glass to the land that is free, boys, but sold! And drink till your pockets are empty and cold!
