Peat cutting men

They toiled with hands like tree bark

As they cut through rotted peat

Stacking it in heaps to dry

Did not have to be that neat

Just so long as the Westerly's

Could dry out the peat bog water

So it could burn on winters nights

Was all that really mattered

And they could sit in warm habs

With hot broth in their hand

Another day's work completed

And an evening's rest began

Fine clothes for Sundays they were saved

So they could look their best

While thanking God in Heaven above

For this His blessed day of rest

When they could sit down at the pew

With Hymn book at the ready

To sing their praises to the Lord

With voices strong and steady

Then off to Pub to sup a pint

And wild stories for to tell

Of how they dug for peat so deep

They nearly ended up in hell