Hob Songtext
von 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
The bargain