Classic Poem

Come, cropper lads of great renown,
Who love to drink good ale that's brown
And strike each haughty tyrant down,
With hatchet, pike and gun.

Oh the cropper lads for me,
And gallant lads they be,
With lusty strokes the shear frames broke,
The cropper lads for me.

What though the specials still advance,
And soldiers round in nightly prance;
The cropper lads still lead the dance
With hatchet, pike and gun.

And night by night when all is still,
And the moon is hid behind the hill,
We forward march to do our will
With hatchet, pike and gun.

Great Enoch still shall lead the van;
Stop him who dare, stop him who can.
Press forward every gallant man
With hatchet, pike and gun.