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