You see, the boss gives you a "job."
You get so much per day,
But you produce far more, my lads,
Than ever comes your way.
And of this "product of your toil,"
(I'm very sad to say)
You give the "body" to the boss
And keep the "ghost" for "pay".
But should you wish to change all this,
On some bright First of May
Demand your product on the job
The One Big Union way.
That is your rightful pay, my lads,—
The only "honest" pay;
The boss will then become the "ghost"
And soon he'll "walk" away.
Good Slaves and Springtime
The whirring wheels go round and round,
The slaves speed on throughout the day.
More joyless, dreamless things than they
Could nowhere on the earth be found.
No other sight, no other sound,
No hope but thus to always stay.
The whirring wheels go round and round,
The slaves speed on throughout the day.
Outside, that mystery profound,
A breath of Spring from far away—
The world wakes at the call of May;
But here the master smiled or frowned,
The whirring wheels go round and round....
35
