Wednesday night in the Hare and Hounds Upstairs, fifty chairs, entry two pounds Janet on the door says there’s room for more So get your arse inside and sit it down Floor singers welcome if you sign the sheet Get up onstage or else sing from your seat Don’t be scared, Janet says, we’re all here To sing and play, so get up on your feet Here’s a farmer marching off to fight Napoleon A servant girl, big with the master’s wain A rebel named McCann headed for Van Diemen’s Land In three verses and a chorus, you can make them live again Let their bones speak tonight Let them whisper and let them cry Sing their blues like you’ve walked in their shoes Let their bones speak tonight Ballads, Irish sentimentals, any style Rock’n’roll, music hall, make us cry or smile Sing one of your own if it makes you feel at home We’ve not had a new Bob Dylan for a while Janet used to sing the blues while Johnny played the slide But now she just listens, ever since old Johnny died Soon we’ll all be gone, all that’s left will be the song Sing it loud if you can’t sing it right Here’s a cotton weaver and a cotton picker A fishergirl and a coal miner’s wife A lonely dockside whore, a dustbowl troubadour A ploughboy, a cowboy, you can bring them back to life Let their bones speak tonight Let them whisper and let them cry Sing their blues like you’ve walked in their shoes Let their bones speak tonight