With your kind attention,
the song I will trill
On you who must toil
with a pick and the drill
Sweat for your bread in
that hole in Oak Hill
That goes down, down, down
When I was a lad, says my daddy to me
Stay out of Oak Hill,
take my warning, says he
Or with dust you'll be choked,
and a popper you'll be broken down,
down, down.
But I went to Oak Hill
and I asked for a job,
a mule for to drive
or a gangway to rob.
The boss says, come out, Bill,
and follow the mob
that goes down, down, down.
On the strength of the job
and the tune of this rhyme
Strolled into Thames
and drank twenty -five shines
Reported next morning half dead
But on time to go down,
down, down
All aboard for the bottom,
the top man did yell
We stepped in the cage
and he ding -donged the bell
Threw that hole in Oak Hill
like a bat out
Hell, we went down, down, down.
She was blocked from the dish
to the knuckle with smoke.
The dust was so thick,
I thought I would choke.
Says I to myself,
I guess here's where I croak away down,
down, down.
I groped to a gangway,
I got me a scoop.
The cot was just fired,
muck heap up to the roof,
I scooped and I scooped
till my back looped the loop,
stoopin' down, down, down.
All I drew for the year was
a dollar or three,
Those company store thieves
made a pumper of me,
But for ballads like this one
I'd have starved for a spree
in the town, town, town.
Toil, you butterly grey,
on my poor daddy's head,
While he slaved at Oak Hill
to provide us with bread,
I wish I had heeded the
warning he pled,
Don't go down, down, down,
Don't go down, down, down.