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The Dreadnoughts
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The Cider Drinker Marches On
When Eve was in the garden,
She plucked an apple fair.
She pressed it into Cider,
And gaver her mate his share.
Then anger split the heavens,
And they walked away in shame.
And still I sit in exile,
No scrumpy to my name.
The night tis' dark before the dawn.
Take heart,
The lonely Cider drinker marches on!
And the dogs of prohibition,
Their voices dark and shrill.
Denied our ancient birth-right,
And torched the Cider mills.
They banished from the new world,
What belongs to you and me.
The drinks of nature's apples,
from the finest of her trees.
From Ash Cuttler,
and the (inaudible),
to the mighty Jamer Ford.
We trace this noble heritage
to (inaudible) .
Now some may fight for silver,
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And some may fight for land.
For scrumpy's sake,
The Cider punk makes his final stand.
The night tis' dark before the dawn.
Take heart,
The Lonely Cider Drinker Marches on.
(...)
So come you lads and lasses,
Put down that wretched broom!
(inaudible)
And seek your real cider,
And set aside the rest.
Untill the day that golden sun,
Comes rising in the west.
The Night tis' dark before the dawn,
Take heart,
The lonely Cider drinker marches on.
Oh where,
has all the scrumpy gone?
Take heart,
The Lonely Cider Drinker Marches on!
(...)
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