Marching out on the streets
Head to cauldhame on a November morning
Greet with coughs and a curse
Five hundred shawls converge on the warren
Deep in the bowels of earth
Auld blue dan waits for pony and pitboy
Noble blasting the leaf
The sound of the props and waters weeping for man’s toil
Keeps on riding the cages
Keeps on digging the seam
Keeps on pushing four-fifty
Till that coal dust flows through the vein
From busbiehead to the plann
Doura, perecton, southook and hayside
They’re living close to the damned
All labour’s lost tending tunnels for gravesides
Twelve hours down by the face
Shot fired damp escapes from the flames kiss
Dodge underworld’s cold embrace
A rush of air struggles out of the darkness
Keeps on riding the cages
Keeps on digging the seam
Keeps on pushing four-fifty
Till that coal dust flows through the vein
Claw tooth and nail, till they’re beat
Breaking out on a coal fire gloaming
High from fighting the deep
Salute the stacks forget the wail of the sirens
They’re marching into the streets
Heading hame on a November evening
Leave the shrouds to their sleep
Four hundred shawls to weep by the warren
Keeps on riding the cages
Keeps on digging the seam
Keeps on pushing four-fifty
Till that coal dust flows through the vein
Keeps on riding the cages
Keeps on digging the seam
Keeps on pushing four-fifty
Till that coal dust flows through the vein
