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Dubliners


I've been over Snowdon
I've slept up on Crowdown
I've camped by the Wain Stones as well
I've sun bathed on Kinder
Been burnt to a cinder
And many more things I can tell
My rucksack has oft' been my pillow
And the heather has oft' been my bed
And sooner than part from the mountains
I think I would rather be dead.

I'm a rambler, I'm a rambler
From Manchester way
I get all my pleasure the hard moorland way
I may be a wage-slave on Monday
But I am a free man on Sunday

The day was just ending
As I was descending
Near Grindsbrook just by Upper-Tore
When a voice cried, "Hey You"
In the way keepers do
He's the worst face that I ever saw
Well the things that he cried were unpleasant
In the teeth of his fury I said
Sooner then part from the mountains
I think I would rather be dead.


He called me a louse
And said think of the grouse
I thought but I still couldn't see
How old Kinder Scout
And the moors round about
Couldn't take both the poor grouse and me
He said all this land is my master's
At that I stood shaking me head
No man has the right to own mountains
Any more than the deep ocean bed.

I once loved a maid
A spot-welder by trade
She was as fair as the rowan in bloom
And the bloom of her eyes
Matched the blue moorland sky
And I wooed her from April to June
In the day that we should have been married
I went for a ramble instead
For sooner then part from the mountains
I think I would rather be dead.

So I'll walk were I will
Over mountain and hill
And I lie where the bracken is deep
I belong to the mountains
The clear running fountains
Where the grey rocks rise rugged and steep
I've seen the white hare in the gully
And the curlews fly high over head
And sooner then part from the mountains
I think I would rather be dead.





Edited by Wasatch (05/08/21 07:07 AM)