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The Elf​-​shot Ploughman

from Coroner & Knives by Al Duvall

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lyrics

I be a tidy ploughman and I heed the harvest horn My mother died a Monday and a Friday was I born They heard me crying in her grave they dug the earth for me to save now to the soil am I a slave Whit-de-dan-di-dee. The witches and the fairies make my labors all in vain At night they work their mischief on the oxen and the grain They ride my cow from out the shed and bring her back a nearly dead the milk she gives is thick and red Whit-de-dan-di-dee, I hold my heavy horses in a stable full of charms Their harnesses are bright with pennies found on lucky farms I shred the bible in their hay a trough of rain from Easter Day and yet they drop and waste away Whit-de-dan-di-dee, Last autumn did we harvest corn that reached a tidy size I wove a maiden from the stalks and in my bed she lies She whispers curses on the crow but April comes with sleet and snow and not one kernel left to grow Whit-de-dan-di-dee, Another jug of zider then I’m headed off to sea And I bequeath my cursed farm to any fool for free The heaving brine the tangled knot the cat o’nine the pirate’s shot I’ll take above a farmer’s lot Whit-de-dan-di-dee

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from Coroner & Knives, released March 20, 2005

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Al Duvall Brooklyn, New York

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