(a cappella in c)
It's in the evening after dark,
When the blackleg miner creeps to work,
In his moleskin pants and his dirty shirt,
There goes the blackleg miner.
He takes his picks and doon he
goes
To hew the coal that lies below,
There's not a woman in this town row
Who'll look at the blackleg miner.
Oh Delavel is a terrible place.
They rub wet clay in a blackleg's face,
And around the heaps, they run a foot-race
To catch the blackleg miner.
Oh divent gan near the Seghill
mine
Across the way, they stretch a line
To catch the throat and break the spine
Of the dirty blackleg miner.
They take your tools and duds
as well
And hoy them doon the pits o' hell.
It's doon ye go and fare thee well
Ye dirty blackleg miner.
So join the union while you may.
And don't wait till your dying day
For that may not be far away
Ye dirty blackleg miner.