I'm a four loom weaver, as many a man knows,
I've nowt to eat an' I, ve worn out mi clothes
Mi clogs are both brocken, an' stockings I've none.
Thee'd hardly gi' us tuppence for all I've getten on.
Owd Billy o' Bent, he's bin tellin' us long
We mayn't had better times if I'd nobbut held mi tongue.
Well I've held mi tongue till I near lost mi breath,
An' I feel in mi heart that I'll soon clem to death.
I'm a four loom weaver, as many a man knows.
I've nowt t'eat an' I've worn out mi clothes.
Owd Billy were right, but he ne'er were clemmed,
An' he ne'er picked o'er in his life.
We held on for six weeks, thought each day were the last.
We tarried an' shifted till we were quite fast.
We lived upon nettles while nettles were good.
An' Waterloo porrage were best o' us food.
Our Margaret declares, if hoo'd clothes to put on,
Hoo'd go up t' London for t'see the great man.
An' if things didn'y alter when there hoo'd been,
Hoo' swears hoo'd fight wi' bood up to th'een.
I'm a four loom weaver as many a man knows.
I've nowt t'eat an' I've worn out mi clothes,
Stockin's I've none, nor no looms to weave on,
An' I've woven mi'sen to far end.