six at night
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 . I 'll tell you raälly , without consate , For a hungry pig 't is a charmin ' bait . At six you 're locked into your cell , There until the mornin ' dwell ; There 's a bed o ' straw all to lay on , There 's Hobson 's choice , there 's that or none . ''