Her [C]age might be [Am]forty, though [F]wrinkles tell [C]lies,
And [C]long years of [Am]labour are [F]drawn in her [G]eyes;
She [C]puffs her old [Am]pipe, leaning [F]outboard to [C]see
Where [F]Telford's great [C]bridge spans the [G]vale of the [C]Dee.
Her [C]husband's [Am]asleep in his [F]close, narrow [C]bed,
After [C]fifteen hard [Am]hours, he could [F]scarce raise his [G]head;
It's [C]seventy feet [Am]from the [F]helm to the [G]bow;
She [F]leans on the [C]tiller; it's [G]her turn right [C]now.
Chorus:
So [F]butter some [C]bread, Sally, [G]brew us some [Am]tea,
For it's [F]cold on old [C]Telford's Bridge [G]over the [C]Dee.