Ball & Chain
I came a' running down the hill
Holding a tankard I dare not spill,
My only respite from my girl
If I was late, oh how she would look to kill.
She would throw pots and pans,
Bruise and dent me, burn my hands
Can't tell nobody, Of how a woman rules my lands.
After a hard day at the mill
Holding a tankard, she dared to spill
Oh now, now my girl
I now stand trial, for a kill.
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