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User Name Thread Name Subject Posted
Moira Cameron Work Songs & Labor Movement (52* d) Lyr Add: THE HAND-LOOM WEAVERS' LAMENT^^ 02 Nov 97

For a more humourous song about the working class, look up "They're moving father's grave" on the data base (I know it as British Workman's Grave.) A more recent song, but one everyone can relate to I'm sure is "On a Monday Morning" by Cyril Tawney. One I couldn't find in the data base is "Tyrants of England" (it may actually go by another title.) I learned it off of an early Ian Robb album. I don't know if I can remember all of the lyrics.


You gentlemen and tradesmen who ride about at will,
Look down on these poor people; it's enoght to make you krill.
Look down on these poor people, as you ride up and down--
I think there is a God above Who'll pull your pride right down.

CH>You tyrants of England!
Your race may soon be run;
You may be brought into account
For what you've sorely done.

Oh you pull down our wages, shamefully to tell;
You go into the market and you say we cannot sell.
And when that we do ask you when these bad times may mend,
You quickly give an answer, "When the wars are at an end."

When we look on our poor children, it grieves are hearts full sore.
They're clothing it is torn to rags, and we can get no more.
With little in they're bellies, they to their work must go
While yours do look as manky as monkeys in a show.

With the choicest of fine dainties, your tables overspread;
With good ale and strong brandy, you make your faces red.
You invite a set of visitors; it is your chief delight
To put your heads together for to make our faces white.

You go to church on Sunday, but I think it's naught but pride.
There can be no religion when humanity's thrown aside.
If there be a God in heaven, as there is in the exchange,
Our poor souls must not roam near there; like lost sheep they must range.

You say that Boneparte is the cause of all
And that we should all have cause to pray for his downfall.
Well, Boneparte's dead and gone, and it is plainly shown
That we have bigger tyrants than Boney's of our own.

And so me lads, for to conclude, and for to make an end,
Let's put our heads together so that these bad times may mend.
So give us our old prices, as we have had before;
And we will live in happiness and rub out the old score.

There. I hope I remembered it all.

HTML line breaks added. -JoeClone, 27-Jul-01.

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