Get up in the morning, slaving for bread, sir
So that every mouth can be fed
Poor me, the Israelite. Aah
Get up in the morning, slaving for bread, sir
So that every mouth can be fed
Poor me, the Israelite. Aah
My wife and my kids, they are packed up and leave me
Darling, she said, I was yours to be seen
Poor me, the Israelite. Aah
Shirt them a-tear up, trousers are gone
I don't want to end up like Bonnie and Clyde
Poor me, the Israelite. Aah
After a storm there must be a calm
They catch me in the farm. You sound the alarm
Poor me, the Israelite. Aah
Poor me, the Israelite
I wonder who I'm working for
Poor me, Israelite
I look a-down and out, sir