HE PEASANTS' TALE: everemoore

bifore we cud live proper

bifore udders cum an close us off

bifore me an she

wer driven owt this lyf

by riche cuntree heigh

with no kynde

hoo bild moo fenses

an put up sins bout trespas

i cant reed til god

butt i no wat yow mens

ye dont let us in

kep off thee seyn

butt wher shood we live

me felawe man dclare

butt wher cud we live

on noon lond

noon noonmanslond

with no voys

wher cud we gras shep

an bleet an wende

an try an live as folk

noon jus as props fer cuntree heigh

we need lond fer livin

taint proper wot yow deed

hym an me stil dclare

taint proper wot yow deed

butt thyn fenses

cant stoop me an she

beth redy for to meete us

callen in the wind

cros feelds an feelds an tyme

cros tyme an poverte

we wol namoore lye dun

namoore lye dun

butt wilt blooom fer now

an fer everemoore

fer everemoore

beth everemoore

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