Traditional English Folk Song.
It’s in the evening after dark,
When a blackleg* miner creeps te work,
With his moleskin pants and dorty** shirt,
There goes the blackleg miner!
He’ll take his picks and doon he goes,
Te hew the coal that lies below,
But there’s not a lass in this toon row
Will look at a blackleg miner.
Now, divvent gan*** near Delavel Mine,
Across the way they stretch a line,
Te catch the throat an’ break the spine,
Of the dorty blackleg miner.
An’ Seghill is a terrible place,
They rub wet clay in a blackleg’s face,
An’ around the heap they run a foot race,
Te catch the blackleg miner.
They take ye duds an’ tools as well,
An’ hoy**** them doon the pit of hell,
Doon ye go an’ fare ye well,
Ye dorty blackleg miner.
So join the union while ye may,
Don’t wait till yer dying day,
’Cause that may not be far away,
Ye dorty blackleg miner!
***divvent gan: don’t go