Henry's Songbook

And it feels like winter spit to eat and hell to pay
It feels like Reynardine on Boxing Day
It feels like winter spit to eat and hell to pay
It feels like Reynardine on Boxing Day

When I sit down at my table, clasp my hands and bow my head
Should I thank my heavenly landlord for my daily crust of bread
When the hunters in his stable and the hounds in his pack
Get the pickings of the harvest on which I break my back
There's a fence around the common land put there by the law
It's called hunting if you're gentry but it's poaching if you're poor
And the law forgives your trespass like the hounds forgive the fox
You must number all your blessings with the ha'pence in your box

Now the forest is a shipwreck and the field is full of stone
It's hard to find a blade of grass some bastard doesn't own
And they stopped the earth up for us and they drove us into town
Now they say there's no work for us and they've closed the factory down

They're still meeting in the country for the hunt and for the course
You can join the bloody gentry if you can afford a bleedin' horse
And we raid along the railway and we pray we don't get caught
God damn you merry gentlefolk for your money and your sport

When I sit down at my table, clasp my hands and bow my head
Should I thank my heavenly landlord for my daily crust of bread
For the whip and hand that feeds us and keeps us in our place
One day we'll turn and wipe the smile clean off your bloody face

As sung by Roy Bailey

[1991:] Expresses opposition to blood sports and brilliantly uses the image to make another connection. (Notes Roy Bailey, 'Never Leave A Story Unsung')

[1994:] A traditional Boxing Day activity is the Hunt. (Notes Boys of the Lough, 'Midwinter Night's Dream')

[2000:] (1988) I wrote this because Neil "Shelley's Children" Dunnett was short of a track for an "Artists for Animals" benefit LP ... (Notes Robb Johnson, 'Margaret Thatcher: My Part In Her Downfall')