and the farm that you keep
Have you room for a wee fine herdsman
of twenty -five shillings a week?
I've worked a lot of places
and I think I know the job
And as we both love Thomas Hardy,
But you're a writer, not a farmer,
so I'd better change my trade
I'll take up writing songs,
cos for this I'm surely made
And I'll keep the words in order
And let the cocks lay the
But this will produce chaos
so let's have another look
You hire professional landsmen
And fill it full of songs
for you while you entertain
All the local gentry I'll be working
But still things are dangerous in the plot
A hit record is what I need
So I'll make a wonderful L .B.
And as a chivalrous D .D.
Then to the cottage I'll retire
Well, it zooms down the charts
at one hundred miles an hour
But then about page two hundred,
as Thomas Hardy fans all know
I'll either win or lose you,
but it doesn't matter for now
writing and farming away.
You in the house, me in the cottage,
