The Ploughman

There are men who build the Motor Cars
Men who drive a train
Folks they call solicitors
Some can forecast rain
People who can kick a ball
And some can dance and sing
Others who will teach your child
Or make an Airplane wing

But the PLOUGHMAN feeds the world

A man will come and build a road
His wife can mend a car
His son will put the roof on houses
His lass could be a star
His dad was once an engine driver
His mum would mend a sock
His sister she can write a letter
His brother mend a clock

But the PLOUGHMAN feeds the world

Your friend will programme computers
His friend can build a kite
Their wives are making money
By something that they write
A dustman gets his bread and butter
By clearing up your trash
An artist paints your picture
To relieve you of your cash

But the PLOUGHMAN feeds the world

There are guys who chop the trees down
There are vets who will cure your cat
Politicians who can blather on
About all things, this and that
Your Priest he has a calling
To save your very soul
But most of it my hungry friend
Is plain old hyperbole

But the PLOUGHMAN feeds the world

The ploughman takes his Snap Bag out
Into a lonely field
Turns the soil over firmly
Food mountains there to yield
He buries every weed in deep
Makes way for a billion seeds
Takes pride in long straight furrows
To serve his brothers needs

Yes the PLOUGHMAN feeds the world