| Chorus: |
| I'm a four loom weaver as many a man knows |
| Nowt to eat and I've worn out my clothes |
| Clogs are both broken and stockings I've none |
| Hardly give me tuppence for all I've got on |
| Old Billy at Bent, he kept telling me long |
| We might have better times if I'd but held my tongue |
| I holded my tongue 'til I near lost my breath |
| And I feel in my heart that I'll soon starve to death |
| Chorus |
| We held out for six weeks, thought each day was the last |
| We tarried and shifted 'til now we're quite fast |
| We lived upon nettles when nettles were good |
| Waterloo Porridge was best of our food |
| Chorus |
| Our Margaret declares if she'd clothes to put on |
| She'd go up to London and see the great man |
| Things didn't alter when there she had been |
| She swears she'll fight with blood up to thine |
| Chorus |
| I'm a four loom weaver as many a man knows |
| Nowt to eat and I've worn out my clothes |
| Stockings I've none and no looms to weave on |
| I've woven myself to the far end |
| Yes, I've woven myself to the far end |
| I've woven myself to the far end |
| I've woven myself to the far end |