miner he goes and changes his clothes,
then makes his way to the shaft,
each man well knows he's going below,
put in eight hours of graft.
his calico cap and his old flannel shirt,
pants with the strap 'round the knee,
boots watertight, and his candle alight,
His crib and his billy of tea.
tapman to the driver will knock four and one,
ropes to the windlass will strain,
one shift comes up, another goes down,
And working commences again.
works hard for his pay at six bob a day,
toils for his missus and kids;
gets what's left over and thinks he's in clover,
To cut off his baccy from quids.
thus he goes on, week in and week out,
toil for his life's daily bread,
off to the mine, come hail rain or shine,
That his dear ones at home may be fed.
holes in the ground where there's gold to be found,
most times where
gold it is not,
man's like a
rabbit with this diggin' habit,
like one he ought to be shot.