| Oh this is an old story that’s rarely ever told
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| The raping of the country, of the valley
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| The men who came to reap with a musket and a bible
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| They wanted to take the valley
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| The valley! |
| the valley!
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| They wanted to take the valley
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| And oh the ironmasters, they always get their way
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| And so far a pittance all the people worked the land
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| All the men and the women and the children
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| And on sundays it was down to the chapel in the town
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| The preacher said give generously!
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| Give generously! |
| give generously!
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| The people they gave generously
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| And oh the ironmasters, they always get their way
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| The union met in secret on the dark side of the hill
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| By the light of a thousand candles
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| Their pay had been cut, all the people come on out
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| And by scores they were joining Rebecca
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| Rebecca! |
| Rebecca!
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| The people were joining Rebecca
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| And oh the ironmasters, they always get their way
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| Riot!
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| Ironmaster, call the army
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| Call the hungry from the irish sea
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| Ironmaster, call the parliament
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| It’s no sin to fight to be free!
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| From the smokey stacks of merthyr
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| To the hills of Ebbw vale
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| From Swansea docks to Merseyside and Liverpool
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| With the union leaders crushed
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| And the union quickly smashed
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| They blackend the face of the country
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| The country! |
| the country!
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| They blackend the face of the country
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| And oh the ironmasters, they always get their way
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| Now on a hill in Brecon is Crawshay’s ruined house
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| And it blackens out the green of the valley
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| And on the battered grave is the epitaph they gave
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| It stands there, god forgive him!
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| Forgive him! |
| forgive him!
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| And all who rot in hell with him
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| And oh the ironmasters, they always get their way
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| Riot!
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| Ironmaster, call the army
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| Call the hungry from the irish sea
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| Ironmaster, call the parliament
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| It’s no sin to fight to be free!
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| And oh the ironmasters, they always get their way
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| And oh the ironmasters, they still get their way! |