Robb Johnson 1990
Melrose Quartet: https://melrosequartet.bandcamp.com/track/boxing-day
https://melrosequartet.bandcamp.com/track/boxing-day
When I sit down at my table, Clasp my hands and bow my head, Should I thank my heavenly landlord For my daily crust of bread? When the hunters in his stable And the hounds in his pack, Get the pickings of the harvest On which I break my back. There’s a fence around the common land, Put there by the law. It’s called hunting if you’re gentry But it’s poaching if you’re poor. And the law forgives your trespass Like the hounds forgive the fox, You must number all your blessings With the ha’pence in your box. Chorus: And it feels like winter spit to eat and hell to pay, It feels like Reynardine on Boxing Day. It feels like winter spit to eat and hell to pay, It feels like Reynardine on Boxing Day. Now the forest is a shipwreck And the field is full of stone, It’s hard to find a blade of grass Some bastard doesn’t own. And they stopped the earth up for us And they drove us into town; Now they say there’s no work for us And they’ve closed the factory down. They’re still meeting in the country For the hunt and for the course, You can join the bloody gentry If you can afford a bleedin’ horse. And we raid along the railway And we pray we don’t get caught, God damn you merry gentlefolk For your money and your sport. When I sit down at my table, Clasp my hands and bow my head, Should I thank my heavenly landlord For my daily crust of bread? For the whip and hand that feeds us And keeps us in our place, One day we’ll turn and wipe the smile Clean off your bloody face.