| 5.15 A.M. |
| Snow layin' all around |
| A collier cycles home |
| From his night shift underground |
| Past the silent pub |
| Primary school, workin' mens club |
| On the road from the pit head |
| The churchyard packed with minin' dead |
| Then beneath the bridge |
| He comes to a giant car |
| A shroud of snow upon the roof |
| A mark ten jaguar |
| He thought the man was fast asleep |
| Silent, still and deep |
| Both dead and cold |
| A shot through with bullet holes |
| The one armed bandit man |
| Came north to fill his boots |
| Came up from Cockney land |
| E-type jags and flashy suits |
| Put your money in |
| Pull the levers, watch 'em spin |
| Cash cows in all the pubs |
| But he preferred the new nightclubs |
| Nineteen sixty-seven |
| Bandit men in birdcage heaven |
| La dolce vita, sixty-nine |
| All new to people of the Tyne |
| Who knows who did what? |
| Somebody made a call |
| They said, «His hands were in the pot» |
| That he’d been skimmin' hauls |
| He picks up the swag |
| They gaily gave away |
| Drives his giant jag |
| Off to his big pay day |
| Oh, the bandit man |
| Came north to fill his boots |
| Came up from Cockney land |
| E-type jags and flashy suits |
| An' the bandit man |
| Came up the great north road |
| Up to Geordie land |
| To mine the mother lode |
| Seams blew up or cracked |
| Black diamonds came hard won |
| Generations toiled and hacked |
| For a pittance and black lung |
| Crushed by tub or stone |
| Together and alone |
| How the young an' old |
| Paid the price of coal |
| Eighteen sixty-seven |
| My angel’s gone to Heaven |
| He’ll be happy there |
| Sunlight and sweet clean air, oh oh |
| They gather 'round the glass |
| Tough hewers and cutters |
| Child trappers and putters |
| Little foals and half-marrows |
| Who pushed and pulled the barrows |
| The hod boys and the Roley way men |
| 5.15 A.M. |