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I'm a four-loom weaver as many a one knows
I've nowt to eat and I've worn out my clothes
My clogs are both broken and stockings I've none
You'd scarce give me tuppence for all I've gotten on

Old Billy O't Bent he kept telling me long
We might have better times if I'd nobbut hold my tongue
Well I've holden my tongue till I've near lost my breath
And I feel in my own heart I'll soon clean to death

I'm a four-loom weaver as many a one knows
I've nowt to eat and I've worn out my clothes
Old Billy's all reet, he never were clemmed
And he never picked ower in his life

We held on for six weeks, thought each day were the last
We've tarried and shifted till now we're quite fast
We lived upon nettles while nettles were good
And Waterloo porridge was the best of our food

I'm a four-loom weaver as many a one knows
I've nowt to eat and I've worn out my clothes
My clogs are both broken no looms to weave on
And I've woven myself to far end

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