| I am the humble servant |
| Of a rich and noble lord |
| I daily clean his great hall out |
| And see his wine is stored |
| He trusts my with the pantry key |
| The cooks to me must come |
| For every side of venison |
| And every cup of rum |
| And over on his manor |
| My family work his land |
| All we are and all we have |
| Are given by his hand |
| And if i’m feeling weary |
| Well it’s more than i dare show |
| He surely owns my body |
| And like as not my soul |
| I light my masters bedroom fire |
| And clean his robes of state |
| Amuse upon the things i heard |
| Down at the village gate |
| They say we’ll all be free men |
| With a piece of land for all |
| And when the war is over soon |
| Tax on corn will fall |
| And over on the manor |
| We can work a piece of soil |
| Buy the freedom from my lord |
| Earned with honest toil |
| Well i bet my children’s children |
| Have a better life to come |
| They’ll never know just what it’s like |
| To be owned by anyone |
| And over on his manor |
| We can work a piece of soil |
| Buy back freedom from my lord |
| Earned with honest toil |
| Well i bet my children’s children |
| Have a better life to come |
| They’ll never know just what it’s like |
| To be owned by anyone |