| Lyrics: | Vicar of Bray (American)
When royal George ruled o'er this land and loyalty no harm
meant
For Church and King I made a stand and so I got preferment
I still opposed all party
tricks for reasons I thought clear ones
And swore it was their politics to made us all
Presbyterians
And this is the law that I'll maintain until my dying day, sir
That whatsoever King might reign, I'll still be Vicar of Bray, sir
When Stamp Act passed
the Parliament to bring some grist to mill, sir
To back it was my firm intent, but soon there
came repeal, sir
I quickly joined the common cry that we should all be slaves, sir
The
House of Commons was a sty, the Kings and Lords were knaves, sir
Now all went smooth, as
smooth as can be, I strutted and looked big,
sir
And when they laid a tax on tea, I was
believed a Whig, sir
I laughed at all the vain pretense of taxing at a distance
And swore
before I'd pay a pence, I'd make a firm resistance
A Congress now was swiftly called that we
might work together
I thought that Britain would, appalled, be glad to make fair
weather
And soon repeal the obnoxious bill, as she had done before, sir
That we could
gather wealth at will and so be taxed no more, sir
But Britain was not quickly seared,
she told another story
When independence was declared, I figured as a Tory
Declared it was
a rebellion base, to take up arms - I cursed it
For faith, it seemed a settled case, that we
should soon be worsted
The French alliance now came forth, the Papists flocked in shoals,
sir
Friseurs, marquis, valets of birth and priests to save our souls, sir
Our "good ally"
with towering wing embraced the flattering hope sir
That we should own him for our King and
then invite the Pope, sir
Then Howe with drum and great parade marched through this
famous town,
sir
I cried, "May fame his temples shade with laurels for a crown,"
sir
With zeal I swore to make amends to good old constitution
And drank confusion to the
friends of our late revolution
But poor Burgoyne's announced my fate the Whigs began to
glory
I now bewailed my wretched state, that e'er I was a Tory
By night the British left
the shore, nor cared for friends a fig, sir
I turned the cat in pan once more and so became a
Whig, sir
I called the army butchering dogs, a bloody tyrant King, sir
The Commons, Lords
a set of rogues that all deserved to swing, sir
Since fate has made us great and free and
Providence can't alter
So Congress e'er my King shall be, until the times do
alter
@America @war @parody
see also VICBRAY
printed in Songbook of the
American Revolution by Carolyn Rabson
filename[ VICBRYAM
play.exe
VICARBRY
SF
===DOCUMENT BOUNDARY |
