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Here come the mine cars; it'sdamn near dawn. |
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Another shift of men, some of my friends, comin' on. |
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Hard to imagine workin' in the mines; |
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Coal dust in your lungs, on your skin and on your mind. |
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I've listened to the speeches, |
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but it occours to me politicians just don't understand; |
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the thoughts of isolation, ain't no sunshine underground. |
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It's like workin' in a graveyard three miles down. |
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Damn near a legend as old as the mines: |
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things that happen in the pits just don't change with the times. |
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Work 'till you're exhausted in too little spacwe. |
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a history of desastrous fears etched on your face. |
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Somebody signs a paper, ev'ry body thinks it's fine, |
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but Taft and Hartley ain't done one day in the mines. |
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You start to stiffen! You heard a crackin' sound! |
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It's like workin' in a graveyard three miles down. |
