Bags of Gold

You are a regular brute of a man
You clench your nails and your knuckles in your hand
Oh, come on take a shot for the proletariat
You've a knife in your pocket and a feather in your cap

Oh, I was very serious with books about my head
I couldn't write, but read 'em all before I went to bed
Didn't I

Bags of gold
Gold
Gold
Gold

There are pretty ways to get your gold for free
You can wonder at the bottom of the deep hollow tree
It climbed the bark and scared the branch
It grows in all the leaves
And now its ripe for the picking for the other petty fees

Oh, I am in the city now I'm slaving for a wage
If I ever want a bag of gold I'll have to wait an age
Bags of gold

Bags of gold
Gold
Gold
Gold
Oh, gold
Oh, bags of gold

Cape a ball of direction
Oh, any honest man
I will keep on working for them anybody can

Bags of gold
Gold
Gold
Gold