Well rock my boat brother I never knew that Said as sun faded on day's toil carving peat Back solid pain to come before Enough beer to fill the fleet after Jock smiles that end of toiling smile.
I forget what he knew as cause of young man's awe Now four score years have ebbed To last tide's sight. The back remembers times it turned sod And beer wore off in bog mornings. . Jock's gone all like him machines Screwing, de-skilled embodied no pain all gain I work in virtual clearings' sweat Mustered stressed alienated perspiration No tab lit waiting to gasp in pride at end. Jock gifted me his skill and died with the gift Returned in Hull beer and seeing wind under Boots fashioned for winger's flight on floodlit Tuesday And winning pay's ale sank faster after Another bog game of work. Honest toil made men like Jock Now toil is looted by grey, blue, beige Suited dullards trained to steal not steel Themselves against rain back pain mud. They don't rock my boat.
