twelve o'clock
At eleven o'clock we march upstairs To hear the parson read the prayers . Then we are locked into a pen -- It 's almost like a lion 's den . There 's iron bars big round as your thigh , To make you of a prison shy . At twelve o'clock the turnkey come ; The locks and bolts sound like a drum . If you be ever so full of game , The traädin ' mill it will you tame . At one you mount the mill again , That is labour all in vain If that be ever so wrong or right , You must traäde till six at night . Thursdays we have a jubal fraä Wi ' bread and cheese for all the day .