my grandmother

Mrs. Etta Thomas

From 

Edith Walker



Hard Times



There’s the old miller he’s always a-sittin’ a-peckin’ on his rocks

He grumbles at the toll that it is too small,

He used to take half but now he takes it all.

And it’s hard times, boys.



And there’s the doctor, he’s worse than the rest;

He says he’ll cure you for half you possess,

And if you die he’ll sue you for the rest. 

And it's hard times, boys.



And there’s the old shoemaker he’ll sit and he’ll sew with his bristles 

and his awl.          

And he’ll sit and he’ll sew xandx an incha at a clip, 

And he’ll swear by the briars that his shoes won’t rip. 

And it’s hard times, boys.



There’s the old preacher, he’ll bounce on his stage,

And he’ll open his Bible and he’ll preach you a sermon for you to go by;

And put him out a-trading, and he’ll tell you a lie.

And it’s hard times, boys.