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I must go down to
the mud again,
To the lonely field and the sky,
And all I ask is a
wrgie truck
And a tractor to pull her by .
To the wellie way and the
squelchy way,
By Cressy's waves a-sliding ,
With signs and radio and
pump,
Down the water meadows gliding.
Then I'll sit down in the beer
tent
With a muddy fellow-mover,
With a tall pint and tall tale
When
the long slog's over
Originally written
for FeStIves, the newsletter of the IWA National Festival in 2007.
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