It is a sorry tale our poor condition
brought about through malnutrition
I gnaw on bone for its marrow and gristle
life hurts like a thorn or a thistle
as we fight over bones
with sticks and stones
we are meant to smash
with iron bars for fertiliser for farms
we are paupers, we meant no harm
left in the cold of workhouse walls of stone
Mr McDougal master of this workhouse is reckless and rude
he often gets drunk and has his way with the women too
that man is evil make no mistake
he skims our food to make butter and he’s always on the take
we are starving its not disguised
you may be surprised
to hear that it has gone on so long
in Andover in Hampshire, where the way the poor are treated is wrong.
