There is a man all you to guard,
If you put your hand out so,
Untoe the guv’nor you must go;
Eight o’clock is our breakfast hour,
Those wittles they do soon devour;
Oh! dear me, how they eat and stuff,
Lave off with less than half enough.
Nine o’clock you mount the mill,
That you mayn’t cramp from settin’ still,
If that be ever so against your will,