A Quaker Town (Patreon)

By popular demand, here's the full version of the song which features in the end credits of every video I post on YouTube.

It's called A Quaker Town, a song I wrote fifteen years ago, and this is the original recording, complete with mistakes, with me singing and playing the guitar in my bedroom. Back then Mossy Bottom and the dream of quitting the rat race was but a fantasy in my sleepless nights.

Here are the lyrics:

Oh I was born in a Quaker town, where folks worked good and hard,
For the ones they loved, and God above, each day they'd punch their card.
And when evening came, back home again, they'd rest a while and say,
"Tis a hard old life, but for kids and wife, we'll work us another day".
When the sun rose low, back to work they'd go, singing on their way,
"Oh for job and home, to call our own, we'll work us another day."

Oh I grew up in a Quaker town, till eighteen years had passed,
Then I packed my bags, and I said farewell, for a better life at last.
And for five years more, I studied hard, and the state paid harder still,
For that better life, I earned my debt, on her education mill.
Till I threw my cap, and they all did clap, and shake my hand and say,
"Well done my son, now work's begun, you'll pay that debt one day".

Oh I came home to a Quaker town, where folks drank good and hard,
To sign my name, and feel the shame, of dole and disregard.
In my parents' home, each day alone, as a man of twenty-three,
I'd ply my trade, as a beggar made, armed with a fine CV.
Until at last, with a year long passed, I was offered me a job,
With a phone for a pick, I took it quick, and joined the dismal mob.

Oh I live now in a Quaker town, where I rent myself a room,
From a poor old man, with a deep sun tan, born in a post-war boom.
He looks at me, in his Jag Type-E, then he shakes his head to say,
"Buck up you lad, don't act so sad, it was harder in my day."
"When but sixteen, they worked me clean, to pay for house and wife,
With hands and wit, not chair to sit, I made myself this life."

Oh I'll grow old in a Quaker town, where folks work fat and marred,
For the debts they earned, and the skills they learned, each day they'll swipe their card,
And when night time comes, in their first world slums, they'll drink a while and say,
"Tis an easy life, but for kids and wife, no man should live this way."
When the sun sits high, back to work they'll drive, daring then to pray,
"Oh what I'd give, to work to live... in my own damn house this day."
"Oh what I'd give, to work to live... out those dreams for which I pay."
"Oh what I'd give, to work to live... for a life not pissed away."