Henry's Songbook

No churchman am I for to rail and to write
No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight
No sly man of business contriving a snare
For a big-belly'd bottle's the whole of my care

The peer I dont envy, I give him his bow
I scorn not the peasant, tho' ever so low
But a club of good fellows, like those that are here
And a bottle like this are my glory and care

Here passes the Squire on his brother- his horse
There Centum per Centum, the Cit with his purse
But see you the Crown how it waves in the air
There a big-belly'd bottle still eases my care

The wife o' my bosom, alas! she did die
For sweet consolation to church I did fly
I found that old Solomon proved it so fair
That a big-belly'd bottle's a cure for all care

I once was persuaded a venture to make
A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck
But the pursy old landlord just waddl'd upstairs
With a glorious bottle that ended my cares

Life's cares they are comforts, a maxim laid down
By the Bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the black gown
And faith I agree with the old prig to a hair
For a big-belly'd bottle's a heaven of care

Repeat 1

(as sung by The McCalmans)