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