Give me a shilling
Give me a note
Give me a gun
I’ll sing you a merry note
Give me your weapons
Go down on your knees
Place your hands on the floor
And beg for your life
No catches, no deeds
I’d bye you a drink
If I wasn’t so weak
I’d shake your hand
If I didn’t need a leak
I’d stay down there
If you want to live
Approaching me up here
Well you wouldn’t have time
To give…
Tuesday 14th June 2005
By Ruth Rayment
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem