The aforementioned RECORD AND ZINE be produce’d in the DIY fashion and ethic by the LOW AND SEDITIOUS band call’d 12 Dead in Everett, in TREASONOUS AND CONTEMPTIBLE collaboration with the artist and MISCREANT call’d Georgina Millar.
It do tell SAD AND LAMENTABLE tales of HIS MAJESTY'S northern subjects CORRUPT’D from loyal service by LUDD'S REBELLION, wherein they did MOST SAVAGELY turn upon the new machines that STOLE their trade and STARV’D their children. It do comprise of GRAPHIC STORY-TELLING, HISTORICAL ESSAYS, PERIOD ARTEFACTS, and SONGS that the poor folk of ENGLAND sang unto one another in those very years of HUNGER, STRIFE AND TREASON.
It is here presented by way of moral instruction to the youth of ENGLAND, that they may better see the TRUE WICKEDNESS of rebellion, machine-breaking, and ALL MANNER OF UNRULY BEHAVIOUR.
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Sold Out
about
BEING a TEARFUL AND SORROWFUL LAMENT on the SAD LOT of the weaver and his wife in these HARD TIMES OF OLD ENGLAND. (To the traditional and customary tune).
lyrics
I’m a poor cotton weaver as many one knows,
I’ve nowt to eat and I’ve worn out my clothes,
You’d hardly give six-pence for all I have on,
My clogs they are broken and stockings I’ve none,
You’d think it were hard, to be set in the world,
To starve and do the best that you can.
Our church parson kept telling us long,
We’d have better times if we’d but hold our tongues,
Well I’ve holded my tongue, aye I’ve hardly drawn breath,
Though I know in my heart that he'll drive us to death,
I know he lives well, back-biting the Devil,
Bet he never picked oe’er in his life.
We tarried six weeks and thought each was the last,
We tarried and shifted til now we’re quite fast,
We lived upon nettles while nettles was good,
And waterloo porridge was best of us food,
I’m telling you true, I can find folks anew,
Who are living no better than me.
Old Bill O’Dan sent bailiffs one day,
For a shop-score I owed him that I couldn’t pay,
But he was too late for old Bill O’Bent,
Had already taken all we had for rent,
We’d nowt but a stool, a hard seat for two,
To do for both Margrit and me.
The Bailiffs looked ‘round them as sly as a mouse,
To see all our things taken out from the house,
Says one to the other “All’s gone thou may see’.
I said, “never mind lads, you’re welcome to me!”
Well they made no ado, but kicked out the stool,
And we both went whack upon the flags.
I said to our Margrit as we lay on the floor,
We’ll never be lower in this world I am sure,
And if things to alter I’m sure we must mend,
For I know’s in my heart that we’re both at far end,
For meat we have none, nor looms to weave on,
But eh god, they’re as well lost as found!
So I took up my work, and I took it them back,
I scarcely dared speak master look’t so black,
To think that we work to keep him and his set,
All the days of our lives and then die in their debt,
Well our give o’er this trade and find work with a spade,
Or I’ll go and break stones on the road!
A low-down, seditious trio unearthing contemporary political resonances in the traditional music of England, Ireland,
Scotland and the US. Sweet harmonies of reason in a world deaf to exploitation. Songs to fan the flames of discontent and tell your boss to go to hell. We are all members of the IWW union. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Everett_massacre...more
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