Come, cropper lads of great renown, Who love to drink good ale that’s brown, And strike each haughty tyrant down With ’atchet, pike and gun.
Chorus: The cropper lads for me, And gallant lads they’ll be, With lusty stroke the shearframes broke, The cropper lads for me. 2 What though the specials still advance, And soldiers nightly round us prance, The cropper lads still lead the dance, With ’atchet, pike and gun. 3 And night by night when all is still, And the moon is hid behind the hill, We forward march to do our will, With ’atchet, pike and gun. 4 Great Enoch he shall lead the van, Stop him who dares, stop him who can, Press forward every gallant man, With ’atchet, pike and gun.