The sun never shine on the poor

Richard Thompson

Composed by: Richard Thompson
The urchins are writhing around in the mud, 
Like eels playing tag in a barrel 
The old Sally Army sound mournful and sweet 
As they play an old Chrissmassy carol; 
The world is as black as a dark night in hell 
What kind of a place can this be? 
Old people like hermit crabs run into doorways 
All fearing to say, do you feel a downtrodden as me? 

Ting-a-ling, Ting-a-Ling, the Devil he leans on your bell, 
The future looks black as before 
And the sun never shines, the sun never shines on the poor 

The rich man he dreams of his gold and his plate 
And his house and his car and his women, 
The poor man he dreams of his one-roomed estate 
And his wage-packet short by one shilling 
The last penny falls through a hole in your jeans, 
Now ain't that the way when you're down? 
Just walking in circles for the rest of your life, 
And feeling so low that your chin scrapes along the ground 

Ting-a-ling, Ting-a-Ling, the Devil he leans on your bell, 
The future looks black as before 
And the sun never shines, the sun never shines on the poor 

Now some of the people are poor in the purse 
They don't have the cash at the read 
And some of the people are crippled and lame 
They can never stand up true and steady 
And some of the people are poor in the head 
Like the simpleton fools that you see 
But most of the people are poor in the heart 
It's the worst kind of poor, it's the worst kind of poor you can be 

Ting-a-ling, Ting-a-Ling, the Devil he leans on your bell, 
The future looks black as before 
And the sun never shines, oh the sun never shines on the poor
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