Do yer know 'ow it feels?
when t'sirens goes an it i'n't knockin' off time?
an in all t'street,
the women look up from stonin' steps, in their 'airnets 'n' their 'eadscarves.
'It's the pit' they say, an' t'word goes up and down street,
in all t' front parlours, down t' ginnels , an' into t'next road
an' the' put down tshoppin' bags an' t'kids an' t'washin'

An' the' go to t'pit gate
cursin' t' bloody cobbles
an' t'gaffer comes
in his bloody bowler 'at
'Now then, The'e's nowt t'worry about ladies'
jumped -up little bugger.

An' they shut the bloody siren off
so yer an 'ear yerself think
and they call for the 'ard lads
an' the old 'uns
Them as coughs black phlegm an' 'a'nt got long t' go anyway

An' they go down
an' you wait an' wait an' wait
and then they come up
and the' bring a few back
an' t'big women as works satterdis in t'baker's comes over
gives yer a bit of an 'ug an' sez, quiet like,
'Our Arnold found 'im............ tha's a widder luv'

An' yer walk 'ome
in t'bleedin rain
an' y' 'ave t tell t'lad
'tha dad's gone'

d' yer know 'ow it feels when t'bloody siren goes an it i'n't knockin' off time.