A weavery life is like an engine,
Coming around the mountain steep;
You'll hit your ups and downs a-plenty,
Then at night you cannot sleep;
Very often flag your fixer,
When his head is bending low:
You may think that he is loafing,
But he's doing the best he knows.

CHORUS:
Soon we'll end (soon we'll end)
This life of weaving (life of weaving),
Soon we'll reach (soon we'll reach)
A better shore (a better shore),
Where we'll rest (where we'll rest)
From filling batteries (filling batteries);
We won't have to weave (to weave)
For the boss no more (for the boss no more).

Most every day I meet some stranger
Says he'd love to learn to weave;
And so I feel it is my duty,
To teach him how the weavers weave.
I show him how to fix his breakouts
And loop or spin a thousand or more;
It's just before I quit my talking,
He sure won't crave to weave no more.

CHORUS

My weavery life is like a death train,
Highballing hog-wild in a storm and rain;
It carries my kinfolks and my loved ones
From our cradle station to our graves;
That company yardbull screws the lids down,
And the breakman seals these doors up tight;
There's no way out from this weaveroom factory
Till God's great morning breaks its light.

CHORUS