Nick Lowe Follow

Taking nothing but his daddy's old bone-grip knife
He traded but a little for the wayward life
A faint heart never won fair hand
So says the Rose of England

From high on a hill came the clarion call
To gain young men, come one, come all
Make muster 'gainst the foreign hand
That's raised to the Rose of England

For her feckless boys she did weep and wail
Saying, Lord have mercy where did I fail?
Out of my belly, the pick up a gun

God knows it's a cold outside
It's a fire by day and a freeze at night
I know it's a hell out there
How loud the mouth when the heart don't care

He's damned if he don't, and damned if he do
He'd die if he ever found out we knew
Hot potato, drop it and run
Far from the Rose of England

Taking nothing but his daddy's old bone-grip knife
He traded but a little for the wayward life
A faint heart never won fair hand