> Folk Music > Songs > The Country Farmer’s Son

The Country Farmer’s Son

The Country Farmer’s Son is a song from Sabine Baring-Gould’s book Songs of the West. Strange enough, verse 2 about the Pope has the remark “May be omitted in singing”. Baring-Gould noted:

Taken down from James Woolrich, a labourer, at Broadwood Widger. The original ballad, The Constant Farmer’s Son, is found on a Broadside by Ross of Newcastle. I have re-written the song. The fine, robust tune belongs to the end of the 18^th century. See Folk-Song Journal, i. p. 160.

TRADarrr sang A Country Farmer’s Son on their 2021 album Strange News!. Mark Stevens noted:

Well…PJ [Wright] gave me a book of old folk songs that he had when he was a schoolboy, and amongst the pages I found A Country Farmer’s Son. Lyrically I thought it could have been a Dylan song so I dug out a riff I’d had knocking about for a few years and the whole song came together very quickly. There’s definitely a touch of the ‘All Right Nows’ about it, but that can only be a good thing. Great energy from PJ’s slide guitar and Gregg [Cave]’s vocal.

Lyrics

The Country Farmer’s Son in Songs of the West

I would not be a monarch great,
With crown upon my head,
And Earls to wait upon my state,
In broidered robes of red.
For he must bear full many a care,
His toil is never done;
’Tis better I trow behind the plough,
A Country Farmer’s Son.

I would not be the Pope of Rome,
And sit in Peter’s chair;
With priests to bow and kiss my toe,
No wife my throne to share.
And never know what ’tis to go,
With beagles for a run;
’Tis better for me at liberty
A Country Farmer’s Son.

I would not be a merchant rich,
And eat off silver plate,
And ever dread, when laid abed,
Some freakish turn of fate.
One day on high, then ruin nigh,
Now wealthy, now undone;
’Tis better for me at ease to be
A Country Farmer’s Son.

I trudge about the farm all day,
To know that all things thrive;
A maid I see that pleaseth me,
Why then I’m fain to wive.
Not over rich, I do not itch
For wealth, but what is won
By honest toil from out of the soil,
A Country Farmer’s Son.

TRADarrr sing A Country Farmer’s Son

I would not be a monarch with a crown upon my head
And earls to wait upon my state in ‘broidered robes of red
For he must bare for many a care his toil is never done
Tis better I trow behind a plough, a country farmer’s son

No I would not be a merchant rich and eat off a silver plate
And ever dread whilst laid a bed some freakish turn of fate
One day on high then ruin nigh I now wealthy now undone
Tis better for me at ease to be a country farmer’s son

I walk about the farm all day to know that all things thrive
A maid I see that pleaseth me why then I’m fain to swive
Not over rich I do not itch for wealth, for what is won
By honest toil from out the soil, a country farmer’s son.