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You working men of |
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England one moment now attend |
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While I unfold the treatment of the poor upon this land |
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For nowadays the factory lords have brought the labour low |
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And daily are contriving plans to prove our overthrow |
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So arouse! |
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You sons of freedom! |
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The world seems upside down |
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They scorn the poor man as a thief in country and in town |
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There's different parts in |
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Ireland, it's true what |
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I do state |
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There's hundreds that are starving for they can't get food to eat |
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And if they go unto the rich to ask them for relief |
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They bang their door all in their face as if they were a thief |
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So arouse! |
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You sons of freedom! |
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The world seems upside down |
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They scorn the poor man as a thief in country and in town |
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Alas how altered are the times, rich men despise the poor |
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And pay them off without remorse, quite scornful at their door |
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And if a man is out of work his |
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Parish pay is small |
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Enough to starve himself and wife, his children and all |
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So arouse! |
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You sons of freedom! |
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The world seems upside down |
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They scorn the poor man as a thief in country and in town |
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So to conclude and finish these few verses |
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I have made |
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I hope to see before it's long men for their labour paid |
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Then we'll rejoice with heart and voice and banish all our woes |
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Before we do old |
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England must pay us what she owes |
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So arouse! |
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You sons of freedom! |
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The world seems upside down |
|
They scorn the poor man as a thief in country and in town |