And the bells of old St David’s I hear them ring in my dreams
The past lives in the subconcious without ever ageing it seems.
The tatie hokers will soon be arriving from England, Scotland and Ireland and France
To earn a few quid in the hard way life to them a game of chance
Hoping for a good crop of potatos for if the spuds they are small
They will go home broke as ever and end up with nothing at all.
And the bells of old St David’s through the potato fields ring
And with backs bended towards the gray Welsh sky at their work the tatie hokers sing
These are not church going people nor are they devoted to God or to prayer
They sing for love of song only to lighten their burden of care.
I lived that sort of a lifestyle how can one forget the past
But for me those days long over nothing ‘twould seem meant to last
I heard the bells of St David’s ring in the still evening sky
Going back now more than three decades oh how those years seemed to fly.
I cannot boast of successes or of a life of wine, women and song
Just worked like a serf for a few quid and hoped that my back would stay strong
Yet the bells of old St David’s I hear them ringing today
Where the potato stalks are in full bloom by the Welsh shore far away.

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