Lyrics

The Royal Gloucestershire Yeomanry
Frank Blades (from Wilfred Wilson Gibson ‘Mangel-wurzels’)

[verse]
Working in the wurzels,
In fields of mangold wurzels,
Dusty, dirty, thirsty work but it's the job for me
Slaving for the squire
Down in Gloucestershire.
Planting, hoeing, harvesting; he pays us twelve and three.

[verse]
Now I'm six months older...
Enlisted as a soldier,
All day in the wurzels underneath the Belgian sun,
Crawling through the wire
I’m in the line of fire;
You don’t hoe mangold wurzels with a gun.

[prechorus]
And at the close of the day watch us quietly fade away,
Leaving our legacy carved across the land.

[chorus]
We are the Royal Gloucestershire Yeomanry,
Marching up and down in the mud,
Custodians of the land; with dirt-encrusted hands,
Paying with our sweat and with our blood.
Paying with our sweat and with our blood.

[verse]
My boots are full of muck,
Feel I'm running out of luck,
Try and stay alive; it is the only plan I've got,
Scared to light a lucifer
Some one will see me for sure,
Won't know if they're friend or foe; until I feel the shot.

[verse]
And when this war is over
And we're all put out to clover,
The crippled, and the blinded, the poisoned and the mad,
I hope they call us heroes
Was not the future we chose,
A farmer’s life now doesn’t feel that bad.

[prechorus]
And at the close of the day; watch us quietly fade away,
Leaving our legacy carved across the land.

[chorus]
We are the Royal Gloucestershire Yeomanry,
Marching up and down in the mud,
Custodians of the land; with dirt-encrusted hands,
Paying with our sweat and with our blood.
Paying with our sweat and with our blood.

Our blood…

[bridge]
The Squire, he put up a plaque,
For those of us who didn't come back,
And in the gentle autumn breeze,
And the wind blows through the trees
You hear us marching (hear us marching)
Hear us marching (hear us marching)
Hear us marching two by two across the fields.

[chorus]
We are the Royal Gloucestershire Yeomanry,
Marching up and down in the mud,
Custodians of the land; with dirt-encrusted hands,
Paying with our blood
We are paying with our blood...

[chorus]
We are the Royal Gloucestershire Yeomanry,
Marching up and down in the mud,
Custodians of the land; with dirt-encrusted hands,
Paying with our sweat and with our blood.

[End]
Paying with our sweat and with our blood.
Paying with our sweat and with our blood.