I Hae Laid a Herrin' In Salt / My Wife's a Wanton Wee Thing / the Banks of the Allan - Battlefield Band

These are the words, they're as old as the hills Cooked on a diet of mushrooms and pills One man's crime is another man's thrill And we're gone Gonna get beat to the beat of your heart Gonna get wings on your wings for a start Take it down easy, won't know where you are And you're gone And we're laid in your arms We're laid in your arms Summer is easy, the cotton is high Mama's good-looking, your papa has died One man's love is another man's crime And we're gone Idiot bastard, son of a gun Heaven is easy, your living is done Take it down easy, won't know what you've done And we're gone And we're laid in your arms We're laid in your arms We're laid in your arms We're laid in your arms Clock on the wall says it's quarter to four TV set's on, but you've seen it before One man's crime is another man's cure And you're gone Clock on the wall says it's quarter to six TV set's on, but you're sick of the pricks One man's crime is another man's hit And we're gone And we're laid in your arms We're laid in your arms We're laid in your arms We're laid in your arms Your only love is a love of the gods Living your life with unfortunate sods One man's even, the other man odd And you're gone You're gone with a wave of your palm Gone with your head in the sand Gone, you won't understand Gone, die like a man

Let's drink to the hard working people Let's drink to the lowly of birth Raise your glass to the good and the evil Let's drink to the salt of the earth Say a prayer for the common foot soldier Spare a thought for his back breaking work Say a prayer for his wife and his children Who burn the fires and who still till the earth And when I search a faceless crowd A swirling mass of gray and black and white They don't look real to me In fact, they look so strange Raise your glass to the hard working people Let's drink to the uncounted heads Let's think of the wavering millions Who needs leading, but get gamblers instead Spare a thought for the stay-at-home voter His empty eyes gaze at strange beauty shows And a parade of the gray suited grafters A choice of cancer or polio When I look into the faceless crowd A swirling mass of grays and black and white They don't look real to me Or don't they look so strange Let's drink to the hard working people Let's think of the lowly of birth Spare a thought for the rag taggy people Let's drink to the salt of the earth Let's drink to the hard working people Let's drink to the salt of the earth Let's drink to the two thousand million Let's think of the humble of birth