Bellowhead - Rigs Of The Time lyrics

Here's to the baker I must bring him in Charges tuppence a loaf and he'll think it no sin When he do bring it in it's no bigger than your fist And the top of the loaf is popped off with the yeast And honesty's all out of fashion These are the rigs of the times, times me boys These are the rigs of the times Here's to the butcher I must bring him in He charges fourpence a pound and he'll think it no sin Slaps his hand on the scale-weight to make it go down He swears it's good weight when it wants half a pound And honesty's all out of fashion These are the rigs of the times, times me boys These are the rigs of the times Here's to the tailor who skimps on our clothes And the shoemaker who pinches our toes So our bellies go empty our backsides go bare It's no wonder we've reason to curse and to swear That honesty's all out of fashion These are the rigs of the times, times me boys These are the rigs of the times Now the very best thing that the people could find Is to huff them all up in a high gale of wind And the wind it will blow and the cloud it will burst And the biggest old rascal come tumbling down first Honesty's all out of fashion These are the rigs of the times, times me boys These are the rigs of the times