O, brother
Why have thou come hither?

The morrow are being wither
Bone marrow are being batter
My sorrow will not be better
I can’t give thou bread and butter

For I, too, hold my hunger
You shall have to suffer

O, brethen
You call me heathen
Burn me at stake
make me a steak

My meat is meek
Blood wine as sleek
What will you seek
After I break?

Live like Jesus die like Jesus
Beelzebub babbling bobbling pus
Brother will you let me pass
working as hard as an ass

To give food on your family plate
To be good as a man on a gate
To be fooled by your poor little slate
To die bold on the hands of my mate.

O, brother
Why have thou come hither?

Can’t thou love me any better
Than to be sad and bitter?