| You may have seen Wat Tyler
|
| When they threw him down below
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| And the peasant men, all twenty thousand of them
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| Were undone then in one blow
|
| And you may have seen them holler
|
| And you may have seen them run
|
| On that fateful day, as the old books say
|
| That the good and the mighty won
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| Up rode young King Richard
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| With a look so sly and cold
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| -God is mustering his clouds on our behalf
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| To strike at your children yet unborn
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| And you will remain in bondage
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| Even harsher than before
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| You wretches of men throughout the land
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| Who will seek equality with your lords
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| Hear then brave Wat Tyler
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| And the preacher mad John Ball
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| -It is from our labour
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| That they have the wherewithal
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| To support their pomp and splendor
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| While we get nothing from them at all
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| But our meal of rye and water
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| And the refuse of the straw
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| If someone tries to tame you
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| And to make of you their slave
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| And if you have no means to get the better of them
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| Then at least try to misbehave
|
| (Chrous)
|
| And you may have seen them holler
|
| And you may have seen them run
|
| On that fateful day, as the old books say
|
| That the good and the mighty won
|
| And you may have seen them holler
|
| And you may have seen them run
|
| On that fateful day, as the old books say
|
| That the good and the mighty won |