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Every day as I go through the old shanty town
Where the sheds and allotments all stand
I see the old man of the land
With a rake or a spade in his hand
And he's there in all weather in sunshine and rain,
I hesitate as I go past
Is he happy or sad with his task,
Oh I haven't the time for to ask.
A man of the earth, a man of the soil
In his lonely allotment he labours and toils
He's not much to do since he turned sixty-five
So he's took to his garden to keep him alive
It's his only joy and his pride
Forty years in the iron works broke his will,
And his back and shoulders are round
There was no other work in the town
So they had him both fettered and bound
Then all of a sudden he turned sixty-five
And the bosses said Thank
you
my
man
And they stuck a gold watch in his hand
as behind him the door quickly slammed
Every Saturday evening he's down at the club
And he stands with his mates at the bar
Slowly sipping a solitary jar,
Ah a pension won't go very far.
So he sells a few things to his neighbours and friends,
A few of the things that he grows
But he has to watch how he goes
Or they'll stop all his pension, he knows.
Every day as I go through the old shanty town
Where the sheds and allotments all stand
I see the old man of the land
With a rake or a spade in his hand
For I cannot linger, I must be gone,
For I work in the iron works too
I started there five years ago,
Only forty-five more years to go
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