|
Yeh, this one's for the workers who toil night and day |
|
By hand and by brain to earn your pay |
|
Who for centuries long past for no more than your bread |
|
Have bled for your countries and counted your dead |
|
In the factories and mills, in the shipyards and mines |
|
We've often been told to keep up with the times |
|
For our skills are not needed, they've streamlined the job |
|
And with sliderule and stopwatch our pride they have robbed[Chorus:] |
|
We're the first ones to starve, we're the first ones to die |
|
The first ones in line for that pie-in-the-sky |
|
And we're always the last when the cream is shared out |
|
For the worker is working when the fat cat's about |
|
And when the sky darkens and the prospect is war |
|
Who's given a gun and then pushed to the fore |
|
And expected to die for the land of our birth |
|
Though we've never owned one lousy handful of earth?[Chorus x3] |
|
All of these things the worker has done |
|
From tilling the fields to carrying the gun |
|
We've been yoked to the plough since time first began |
|
And always expected to carry the can |