No wonder that butter's a shilling a pound
Seeing 'em rich farmers' daughters how they ride up and down
If you ask 'em the reason, they'll say, "Bon alas
There's been a French war, so the cows have no grass"
Singing, honesty's all out of fashion
These are the rigs of the time
Time, me boys
Ah, these are the rigs of the time
And it here's to our landlord, I must bring him in
He charges tuppence a pint, yet, he thinks it no sin
When he do bring it in, oh, the measure is short
And the top of your pint is all covered in froth
Singing honesty's all out of fashion
These are the rigs of the time
Time, me boys
Ah, these are the rigs of the time
And it here's to our butcher, I must bring him in
He charges four pence a pound, yet he thinks it no sin
Slaps his thumb on the scales, and he makes it go down
He declares it's a full weight, but it lacks half a pound
Singing, honesty's all out of fashion
These are the rigs of the time
Time, me boys
Ah, these are the rigs of the time
And it here's to our baker, I must bring him in
He charges ha'penny a loaf, and he thinks it no sin
When he do bring it in, it's no bigger than your fist
And the top of the loaf is all covered in grist
Singing, honesty's all out of fashion
These are the rigs of the time
Time, me boys
Ah, these are the rigs of the time
So it here's to our tailor who skimps on our clothes
And here's to the cobbler who pinches our toes
For our belly's all empty, our backsides are bare
No wonder we've reason to curse and to swear
Singing, honesty's all out of fashion
These are the rigs of the time
Time, me boys
Ah, these are the rigs of the time
Time, me boys
Ah, these are the rigs of the time
