“Step in, young man, I know your face,
It's nothing in your favour.
A little time I'll give to you:
Six months unto hard labour.”
To me Hip! fol the day, Hip! fol the day,
To me Hip! fol the day, fol the digee, oh!
At six o'clock our turnkey comes in,
With a bunch of keys all in his hand.
“Come, come, my lads, step up and grind.
Tread the wheel till breakfast time.”
To me Hip! fol the day, Hip! fol the day,
To me Hip! fol the day, fol the digee, oh!
At eight o'clock our skilly comes in,
Sometimes thick and sometimes thin,
But devil a word we must not say
Or it's bread and water all next day.
To me Hip! fol the day, Hip! fol the day,
To me Hip! fol the day, fol the digee, oh!
At half past eight the bell doth ring.
Into the chapel we must swing,
Down on our bended knees to fall.
The Lord have mercy on us all.
To me Hip! fol the day, Hip! fol the day,
To me Hip! fol the day, fol the digee, oh!
At nine o'clock the jangle rings.
All on the trap, boys, we must spring.
“Come, come, my lads, step up in time,
The wheel to tread and the corn to grind.”
To me Hip! fol the day, Hip! fol the day,
To me Hip! fol the day, fol the digee, oh!
Now Saturday's come, I'm sorry to say,
Sunday is our starvation day.
Our hobnail boots and tin mugs too,
They are not shined nor they will not do.
To me Hip! fol the day, Hip! fol the day,
To me Hip! fol the day, fol the digee, oh!
Now six long months are over and past,
And I will return to my bonny, bonny lass.
I'll leave them turnkeys all behind,
The wheel to tread and the corn to grind.
To me Hip! fol the day, Hip! fol the day,
To me Hip! fol the day, fol the digee, oh!
It's nothing in your favour.
A little time I'll give to you:
Six months unto hard labour.”
To me Hip! fol the day, Hip! fol the day,
To me Hip! fol the day, fol the digee, oh!
At six o'clock our turnkey comes in,
With a bunch of keys all in his hand.
“Come, come, my lads, step up and grind.
Tread the wheel till breakfast time.”
To me Hip! fol the day, Hip! fol the day,
To me Hip! fol the day, fol the digee, oh!
At eight o'clock our skilly comes in,
Sometimes thick and sometimes thin,
But devil a word we must not say
Or it's bread and water all next day.
To me Hip! fol the day, Hip! fol the day,
To me Hip! fol the day, fol the digee, oh!
At half past eight the bell doth ring.
Into the chapel we must swing,
Down on our bended knees to fall.
The Lord have mercy on us all.
To me Hip! fol the day, Hip! fol the day,
To me Hip! fol the day, fol the digee, oh!
At nine o'clock the jangle rings.
All on the trap, boys, we must spring.
“Come, come, my lads, step up in time,
The wheel to tread and the corn to grind.”
To me Hip! fol the day, Hip! fol the day,
To me Hip! fol the day, fol the digee, oh!
Now Saturday's come, I'm sorry to say,
Sunday is our starvation day.
Our hobnail boots and tin mugs too,
They are not shined nor they will not do.
To me Hip! fol the day, Hip! fol the day,
To me Hip! fol the day, fol the digee, oh!
Now six long months are over and past,
And I will return to my bonny, bonny lass.
I'll leave them turnkeys all behind,
The wheel to tread and the corn to grind.
To me Hip! fol the day, Hip! fol the day,
To me Hip! fol the day, fol the digee, oh!
envoyé par Bernart - 25/7/2013 - 16:18
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Una canzone raccolta intorno al 1906 nel Dorset.
Incisa da Ewan MacColl con Peggy Seeger (e dopo di loro da altri artisti, in differenti versioni) nel disco del 1957 intitolato “Bad Lads And Hard Cases - British ballads of crime and criminals”.
Prigionieri, con l’animo piegato dalla monotonia e dalla durezza del lavoro, dall’alba al tramonto, ed il corpo segnato dal cibo scarso e schifoso… Una delle non frequenti canzoni popolari inglesi sul tema del carcere, quasi sicuramente composta da chi l’esperienza l’aveva vissuta sulla sua pelle…