So moving on from clever Ada,
Several rungs down the social ladder,
To one whose thoughts and later fruits
In those “hungry forties” had their roots,
When the shadow of the workhouse
Hovered over all the poor,
And against the cursed landowners
He declared an all out war,
And would cause them grief and pain,
By poaching of their precious game,
That later on became a point of principle no less,
To outwit those cursed gamekeepers
That caused so much distress.
Several names he would use,
Together with many another ruse,
And like George Davenport before,
He would connive to outsmart them all,
And suing his great expertise
With trap and snare and gun,
He would leave them trailing in his wake,
For like a hare he’d run,
Crouching low beneath the moon
He’d lure those creatures to their doom,
Which we might question nowadays,
But those were then the country ways
So of James Hawker you now will hear,
In the style of good old Will Shakespeare.
lyrics
James Hawker’s Song
James Hawker is my name, I’ve poached all of my life,
And I don’t care what the landlords say, I’m going to poach until I die.
Caught the foxes in their earth, the badgers in their sett,
Well, I even caught a copper once, he walked into me net!
Poach, poach. A man’s gotta poach, and here’s the reason why:
If we don’t poach, we don’t eat, gonna fade away and die.
Well, the gentry they own all the land, and they don’t miss a trick,
If you try to poach their game, they’ll ‘ave you in the nick.
It ain’t so very long ago as you will recollect,
If you took the gentry’s hare you know, they’d hang you by the neck.
Poach, poach. A man’s gotta poach, and here’s the reason why:
If we don’t poach, we don’t eat, gonna fade away and die.
Good working men will turn to drink, their sorrows for to drown,
They’ll piss away half of their wage down at the Rose and Crown.
If only they would poach with me, put their beer mugs down.
A pheasant or a brace of hare would eran them half a crown.
Poach, poach. A man’s gotta poach, and here’s the reason why:
If we don’t poach, we don’t eat, gonna fade away and die.
Now the gentry they’re a sorry lot, full of human greed,
They always take the greatest share, noy just what they need,
So, don’t it make you sorry, lads, ain’t it a bloomin’ shame?
The rich gets all the pleasure and the poor gets all the blame.
Poach, poach. A man’s gotta poach, and here’s the reason why:
If we don’t poach, we don’t eat, gonna fade away and die.
I write both serious and comedy songs. 6 solo CDs to date and collaborations with Steve Cartwright -"Legends of
Leicester/Leicestershire". "All at Sea" shantyish album. Folk based for the most part - when people ask where the ideas come from I can say with honesty -"not drugs!!".. Currently working on a new album "Aspects of Lurve" hopefully out later in 2024....more
