The Rigs of Time
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No wonder that butter's a shilling a pound
See those rich farmers' daughters how they ride up and down
If you ask them the reason, they say, "Bonner lass
There is a French war and the cows have no grass"
Singing honest is all out of fashion
These are the rigs of the time, time me boys
These are the rigs of the time
Now here's to our landlord, I must bring him in
Charges tuppence a pint and yet thinks it no sin
When he do bring it in the measure is short
And the top of the pint is all covered in froth
Singing honest is all out of fashion
These are the rigs of the time, time me boys
These are the rigs of the time
And here's to the butcher, I must bring him in
Charges fourpence a pound and yet thinks it no sin
Slaps his thumb on the scales and makes it go down
He declares it's full weight yet it lacks half a pound
Singing honest is all out of fashion
These are the rigs of the time, time me boys
These are the rigs of the time
And here's to the baker, I must bring him in
Charges a ha'penny a loaf and yet thinks it no sin
When he do bring it in it's no bigger than your fist
And the top of the loaf has popped off with the yeast
Singing honest is all out of fashion
These are the rigs of the time, time me boys
These are the rigs of the time
Now here's to the tailor who skimps with our clothes
And here's to the cobbler who pinches our toes
Our bellies are empty, our bodies are bare
No wonder we've reason to curse and to swear
Honest is all out of fashion
These are the rigs of the time, time me boys
These are the rigs of the time
Now the very best thing that I could find
Is to toss them all up in a high gale of wind
When the wind did do blow, the balloon it would burst
And the biggest old rascal come tumbling down first
Singing honest is all out of fashion
These are the rigs of the time, time me boys
These are the rigs of the time