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Come, Mary, put mi pit clogs by,
From th' jacket shake the dust,
We've gone on strike for ten per cent;
We'll get it lass, I trust.
Ther's nothing cheers a house so much
As a bright fire o' coal,
Yet colliers' wages scarce will keep
The body with the soul.

But we're on strike for ten per cent,
We're not downhearted yet,
We are on strike for ten per cent,
And ten per cent we'll get.

Don't bother much o'er food for me,
But give eawr Joe enough.
If he and thee get decent meals,
I will put up with rough.
And cheer thee up, mi bonnie lass,
And little Joe, don't fret,
That dobbie-horse I promised thee,
When th' strike is o'er tha'll get.