Hob Lyrics - Richard Dawson

We ascended the foaming stair 

To the mouth of the Hobthrush's cave 

Undecanted the hot wine from a nanny's throat 

And placed loaves on the greasy stones 

Our baby's lips are blue 

Our baby's eyes grow dim 

Take it off! Take it off! Take it off - the whooping cough 

And we'd be your eternal debtors 

As the doorway drew near our eldest appeared 

With a bundle in her arms 

It was clutching her tresses and nuzzling her breast 

And the colour was returned 

I used to hold him in the palm of one hand 

Now he's grown as tall as I am 

With the face of his mother veiled in downy gold 

On the broad shoulders of a man 

He is strong with the second sight 

In these parts held in some renown 

Using words not his own he veraciously foretold 

Of a drought when the stream was bulging 

When the pictures become too real 

He buries his nose in the bush of my beard 

And gently pinches my earlobe between thumb and forefinger 

Until the present is restored 

At the murmur of dawn there's a knock at the door 

And a small man standing by 

He is wearing a dogshide and flies for a crown 

One good eye a sparkling well in his brow 

I'd already acquainted myself of that voice 

Before he'd even spoke: 

"I have come to collect what is rightfully owed 

Rouse the boy from slept 

Get him bathed and dressed 

It is time he kept your end of the bargain" 

The bargain