Good morning, young master, it's 1882,
Your mother, is hungry, what will you do?
There is bread, in the kitchen, of the big house upstairs
But I warn you, don't take it, from them
CHORUS
You'll be tarred, you'll be feathered,
you'll be hung like a ham,
and I warn you, don't do it,
young man
END CHORS
Your mother is calling,
she wants you by the bed,
so get up, young master,
shake your sleepy head,
CHORUS
Boy, he steals the bread roll, packs it up and heads for the door
Man, he hears him coming, "Boy, you won't be runnin' no more"